


Dear Diary

by QueerCosette



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon), Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heathers Fusion, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bulimia, Bullying, Courtney wears a monocle when she writes because she's dramatic ok, F/M, Guns, Heathers 1988, I have seen this movie too many times for my own good, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Murder, PTSD, Period-Typical Homophobia, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Teenagers are cruel, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Underage Drinking, christ this is dark, disturbingly creative swearing, everyone has mental health issues on some level, everyone who survives is probably going to require about ten years of therapy, you all know what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-09-29 23:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCosette/pseuds/QueerCosette
Summary: "Dear Diary -My teen angst bullshit now has a body count."Heather Chandler. Gwen Duke. Lindsay McNamara. Courtney Sawyer. Together they make up the most powerful clique at Westerburg High. Most people would die to get into it.Courtney would kill to get out of it.Enter Duncan Dean. He has a way with women, a way with words, and a very special way with a gun."It's God versus my boyfriend, and God's losing..."





	1. Cafeteria

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe you saw my drawings on Tumblr. Maybe you just wanted to read a Heather's AU of TDI. Heck, maybe you're just really bored and need to read a fic full of gratuitous cursing. Either way, I'm grateful.

_Dear Diary,  
_ _Heather told me that she teaches people real life. She said “Real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles? You gotta learn to fly.”  
_ _I said “So you teach people to spread their wings and fly?”  
_ _She said “Yes.”  
_ _I said “You’re beautiful.”_

A sharp kick to her side distracted Courtney Sawyer from where she was scribbling in her diary, seated at the bottom of a staircase in the first floor hallway of Westerburg High. She hurriedly removed the monocle from her right eye and looked up at her assailant: black skirt, yellow blazer, white shirt, blonde hair. Lindsay McNamara, the third most popular girl in school, after Heather and Courtney herself.

“God, come _on_ , Courtney!” was all Lindsay offered as an explanation for the violence. Courtney glared right back.

“What’s your damage, Lindsay?!” she snapped. Lindsay wasn’t the kicking type normally; which meant that someone must have sent her with a message. While Lindsay McNamara excelled at gossiping, cheerleading and scoring dates, she did not have a stellar memory, so all messages had to be delivered as quickly as possible.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Don’t blame me, blame Heather. She told me to haul your ass to the caf, pronto.” She glanced at the shorter, dark-haired girl hovering next to her. “Back me up, Gwen.”

Gwen Duke nodded, straightening her own green blazer. She was a tiny, dark-haired waif of a girl, clutching a tattered copy of J.D Salinger’s _The Catcher In The Rye_ as if it was some sort of talisman. “Yeah, she really wants to talk to you, Courtney.” Her voice was scratchy and quiet. If Gwen was here, Heather must have been in one of her moods – either grumpy or malicious. Gwen tended to take the brunt of Heather’s moods, no matter the nature or cause.

Courtney snapped her diary shut and gathered her belongings, tossed carelessly onto the step next to her. “OK, OK, I’m going,” she groaned. “Jésus.”

When they entered the cafeteria, there was no need to search for Heather; she was instantly visible standing in the middle of the room with her back to them. Her fitted grey plaid blazer, red shorts, white tights and black shoes weren’t couture; they didn’t need to be. Heather Chandler had all the power she needed just from her presence alone. She was the sort of girl that everyone loved and feared at the same time, the kind your parents were afraid you’d get mixed up with, a lamp that drew in every moth for miles around. Even if the outfit wasn’t instantly recognisable, her long black hair tied back with a huge red scrunchie was.

Courtney rolled her shoulders back and walked calmly over to her. She didn’t fear Heather Chandler, but she was still in awe of her control over everyone. “Hello, Heather.”

Heather turned, the malice glittering in her slanted grey eyes suggesting that she was vindictive rather than grumpy. As always, she didn’t bother with pleasantries, but got straight to the point. “Courtney, I snagged biology notes off Brady Sweeney. I need you to use them to forge a hot and horny yet realistically subtle note, and we’ll slip it onto Beth Dumptruck’s lunch tray.” She patted her red-lacquered clipboard for emphasis.

Courtney winced. Even though it had been her amazing forgery skills that had won her a place in Heather’s little Alliance, she hated using them for this kind of thing, and she said so: “Shit, Heather, I don’t have anything against Beth Dunnstock.”

Heather narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have anything for her either! Come on; it’ll be very. The note will give her…” she giggled, “shower-nozzle-masturbation material for weeks.”

The brunette pressed her lips together. “I’ll think about it,” she conceded.

This clearly wasn’t good enough for Heather, who gave her a sharp look. “Don’t think.”

Courtney sighed and glanced over at the lunch line, at Heather’s chosen victim, who was currently guiltily sneaking a second pot of cafeteria jelly onto her tray. Beth Dunnstock wasn’t massive, per se, but she was un-skinny enough that she was an easy target for Heather. Poor kid. High school was designed to tear girls like Beth to shreds. Courtney turned back to her master, eyes passing over Brady Sweeney fist-pounding his right-hand man, Scott Kelly. Both of them were football players who kept their brains in their underwear. Disgusting. Doubtless they were discussing something unsavoury to do with Heather. Or Gwen, or Lindsay, or even Courtney herself. She’d been forced to go out with Scott more than once, when Lindsay didn't want to be alone with Brady, and it was always a dreadful experience.

Heather was still waiting for an answer, and Courtney knew she wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted, so at last she nodded. “Fine.”

Satisfied, Heather grinned at her lackeys. “Courtney’s going to need something to lean on. Bend over.”

It was unclear who she was talking to, and Lindsay and Gwen both bent over obediently, making Heather unleash a burst of violent laughter.

“How nice,” she sneered. “Two assholes: no waiting.”

Gwen and Lindsay both snapped back upright, flushing scarlet with embarrassment, and Heather glanced between them, deciding who to humiliate – or rather, pretending to decide. Everyone knew who she would choose.

“Gwen, back down. I’ll dictate.”

Gwen bent over again, offering her back to Courtney, who took the clipboard from Heather and checked Brady’s Biology notes as Heather began speaking. “Dear Beth, you’re so sweet…”

Over at the jocks’ table, Brady himself was unaware that someone had stolen his notes and was currently listening to Scott rhapsodising about how “righteous” it would be “to be in a Courtney Sawyer-Heather Chandler sandwich. Punch it in, Brady.”

Brady bumped his fist against Scott’s with a nod and a grin. “Hell yes. I wanna set one of them on my Johnson and just start spinning her like a fucking pinwheel.” He made a spinning motion with his index finger to underline his point.

Courtney had finished the note. As Gwen stood back up, cracking her back into place, the brunette tore the page off the clipboard and handed both back to Heather, who gave the handwriting an impressed look. Lindsay, meanwhile, was hawkishly watching their victim in the food line, and tugged excitedly on Heather’s sleeve as Beth paid and left the line. Heather gave a tranquil smile, folded the note, and handed it to Lindsay, who sauntered between tables, chairs and students until she reached the slow-moving Beth. Reaching under Beth’s arm, Lindsay wedged the note between the two pots of jelly and a paper plate nearly overflowing with food. She turned and jogged back to her friends, beaming as Heather nodded approvingly at her. The four girls headed over to their own table, passing Cody Anderson and Noah Dawson, who were working the Foodless Fund stand beneath a red banner that read ‘ **Westerburg Feeds The World!** ’ in black bubble lettering.

“Come on, people!” Cody was currently preaching. “Let’s give that leftover lunch money to people without lunches! Those tater tots you threw away today are a delicacy in Africa! They’re Thanksgiving dinner!” Noah looked thoroughly bored behind him, nose in a thick Agatha Christie novel and one hand protectively on top of the cashbox.

Lindsay sat down and tilted her head confusedly at the stand. “God, aren’t they fed yet?” she asked. “Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa?”

“Oh, sure,” Courtney said sarcastically. “Pilgrims, Indians, tater tots. It’s a real party continent.” Gwen huffed in amusement from behind her book, but judging by the way Lindsay’s eyes widened and how she looked genuinely interested, she hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm. Courtney groaned internally, then groaned externally when Heather tapped her perfectly manicured French tips on her clipboard.

“Sawyer. Guess what today is?”

Courtney made a face. She knew exactly what today was. “Ouch….the lunchtime poll. So what’s the question?”

Gwen marked her page and leaned forwards with a smile. “Yeah, Heather, what’s the question?”

Heather’s mood changed from gloating to pissed in a millisecond. “Goddamn, Gwen, you were with me in Study Hall when I thought of it!”

Gwen gave her a doe-eyed look of hurt. “I forgot.”

Heather tutted, her good mood returning with the opportunity to insult Gwen. “God, you’re such a pillowcase.”

Gwen retreated to her book as Heather and Courtney both got to their feet and left the table. It was Friday, which meant that instead of sitting down to lunch like normal, Heather and either Courtney, Gwen or Lindsay would spend the period asking the preps poll questions with topics that ranged from the obvious to the downright bizarre. There was normally no way of telling what it would be, as Heather never revealed which of her sources it came from. However, Courtney thought she might have an idea, and she said so. “Hey, this question wouldn’t happen to be that bizarro thing you were babbling about over the phone last –”

“Shut up, it is,” Heather snapped. “I told Noah that if he gave me another political topic, I’d spew burrito chunks.”

Courtney rolled her eyes, and in doing so, made eye contact with a boy she didn’t recognise sitting in the corner of the lunchroom. He had messy black hair with green tips, and wore a dark gunslinger coat that seemed to be a little too big for him. He raised his eyebrows at her, fluorescent light glinting off a little barbell piercing on the left brow.

Transfixed, Courtney stopped paying attention to where she was going and promptly tripped over someone sitting down at a nearby table. She hurriedly caught herself as the girl apologised.

“Sorry, Courtney.”

Courtney looked up, recognising the voice. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Zoey Finn. Gosh…”

Zoey had red hair and freckles, and wore oversized horn-rimmed glasses. Her clothes were about 30 years out of date, but wouldn’t have out of place in a 50s Malt Shop. She and Courtney had been best friends once upon a time, but had been forced to drift apart when Courtney had begun hanging out with Heather. They still tried to maintain a sort of long-distance friendship, but Zoey was making far more of an effort than Courtney. Courtney felt bad, but Heather didn’t like her hanging out with people she hadn’t approved. And Zoey’s taste in clothes meant that she would never be approved.

That didn’t mean Courtney had to be rude though, and she smiled at Zoey now, a little apologetically. “Hey, I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to your birthday party last month.”

Zoey gave her an understanding smile. “That’s OK. Your Mom said you had a big date. Heck, I’d probably skip my own birthday party for a date.”

Courtney chuckled, a little sadly. The date – a double with Scott and Lindsay and Brady – had been awful. “Don’t say that.”

Zoey’s brown eyes brightened. “Oh, Court, you have to look at what I dug up the other day!” She rummaged in her purse, carefully removing an old photograph. Courtney practically glowed with fondness; it showed the two girls, aged about eight, in Halloween costumes: Zoey an angel, and Courtney a witch. It was adorable – which was probably why Heather yanked her away a second later. The photograph fell onto the floor, and Zoey hurried to pick it up and put it away as Courtney hissed angrily at Heather.

“I was talking with someone!”

“Colour me impressed,” Heather snarked. “I thought you grew out of Zoey Finn.”

They were approaching the prep table, and were near enough to hear the conversation there, which was rapidly dying down with their imminent arrival.

“Oh great,” one of the girls – Staci – said sourly. “Here comes Heather.”

“Shit,” muttered one of the boys – probably Justin.

Maybe the preps didn’t know it, but Courtney knew Heather could hear them. And she also knew that Heather didn’t give a shit. No matter what the preps said when they thought Heather couldn't hear them, they would practically trip over themselves to fawn over her when she spoke to them.

Heather opened this conversation with a wide smile that to the untrained eye looked friendly, but to those who knew her, was instantly recognisable as her ‘you’d better do exactly as I say’ look. “Hi, Staci,” she said sweetly. “Love your sweater. Ooh, let me snare a tater.”

Staci looked delighted at receiving a compliment from Heather Chandler herself, and pushed her lunch tray in Heather’s direction. Heather delicately took a tater tot and turned to face Courtney, sticking out her tongue and pointing down her throat before popping the tater tot into her mouth. Her meaning could not have been clearer: _blegh_. Courtney huffed an inaudible laugh as Heather turned back to the table, where Staci was telling everyone about her black-and-white-striped sweater. “Thanks, Heather! I just got it last night at the Limited.” She giggled and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Totally blew my allowance.”

Heather raised her eyebrows and her clipboard. “That’s pretty very,” she commented, before turning business-like. “Now, check this out. You win five million dollars from Publishers Sweepstakes, but on the same day what’s-his-face gives you the cheque, aliens land on the Earth and say they’re going to blow it up in two days. What would you do?”

The entire table looked stunned at the question, and Courtney didn’t blame them. She herself was hovering somewhere between ‘what the fuck’ and ‘thank you for allowing me to see their faces when you asked this question’.

Justin was the first to move. “That’s easy,” he replied with a smug grin. “I’d just slide that wad over to my father. He’s, like, one of the top brokers in Canada.”

Courtney snorted. “Wake up. In two days, Earth’s going up like a Roman Candle. Crab Nebula city.” She’d forgotten how much she hated talking to these kids. They had bigger egos than Heather herself – but then again, Heather’s ego was understandable. She had the power to back it up; these kids didn’t, which was what made them so insufferable.

Justin continued to prove her point, flicking a dark fringe out of his eyes. “Man, in two days, my dad could double my money. Triple it.”

Courtney was about five seconds from walking away when Staci dealt the final blow. “If I got that money, I’d give it all to the Homeless,” she announced piously. “Every cent.”

Courtney shook her head almost imperceptibly. “You’re beautiful,” she said flatly, before turning on her heel and hurrying away. Heather was finishing copying down Staci’s answer, but caught up to Courtney about three tables away, grabbing her arm and yanking her to a halt.

“If you’re going to openly be a bitch…” she trailed off, leaving the threat unfinished.

Courtney chuckled submissively. “It’s just… shit, Heather,” she shook her head again. “Why can’t we talk to different kinds of people for once?”

Heather’s perfectly drawn-on eyebrows shot up so quickly, Courtney was a little scared they might fly off her face. “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw!” Heather snarled. “Do I look like Mother Theresa to you? If I did, I probably wouldn’t mind eating lunch with the Geek Squad.” She pointed at a group of unfashionably dressed boys who all wore some combination of glasses, braces, suspenders and bowties. As if to underline the statement, one of them spat out a mouthful of cafeteria-brand milk.

“Did you guys see that?” he was whispering excitedly to his friends. “Heather Chandler just looked right at me!”

“It must be love,” one of his friends snarked back.

Courtney tilted her head, surveying Heather through lowered lashes. “Doesn’t it bother you that everyone in this school thinks you’re a piranha?” she asked softly.

Heather’s reply was equally soft, but twenty times more threatening. “Like I give a shit. They all want me as a friend or a fuck. I’m worshipped at Westerburg, and I’m only a junior.”

“Pretend you’re a missionary saving a colony of cootie victims,” Courtney suggested, almost pleading. She couldn't face talking to any more preps; at least talking to other kinds of students might give them some interesting answers.

Heather’s perfect face pinched in distaste, but to Courtney’s surprise, she nodded. “Whatever,” she said in response to the wide-eyed look of shock Courtney gave her. “I don’t believe this. We’re going to a party at Remington University tonight, and we’re brushing up on our social skills with the scum of the school.”

The geeks seemed oddly fidgety when the two girls approached them; apparently unsure of how to act in front of the alpha predators of Westerburg. They froze up the second Heather opened her mouth though. It was always the same, everyone hanging onto her every word.

“This is what’s called a lunchtime poll. We ask a question, you answer. You win five million dollars from Publishers Sweepstakes, but the same day the guy gives you the cheque, aliens land on the earth and say they’re gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do?”

Once the naturally shocked reactions were out of the way, the geeks actually thought about the question. It was a pleasant change from the self-assured attitudes of the preps.

The same boy who had spluttered milk down himself earlier was the first to answer, straightening his tiny round spectacles. “No, seriously, I’d probably go to Egypt. With a girl.”

His cynical friend snorted. “Taking a hooker to the Pyramids on the last day of mankind. You sentimental old fart.”

“Geez, forget it.”

Courtney turned to another boy, a red-haired twig with spaghetti limbs, thick glasses, and a whispy teenage moustache. “What about you, Harold?”

Harold’s eyes lit up and he muttered something to his friends that sounded suspiciously like “Told you she knew my name,” before answering her. “I’d change my life, I guess. New clothes. New haircut. New house. New me.”

Heather almost cackled with contempt. “How sad! Blowing all your cash on two days of trying to be hip!”

Courtney yanked the guffawing girl away from the geeks’ table, glaring. “If you’re going to openly be a bitch…” she repeated Heather’s earlier threat. Heather shook her head, a smirk playing around her mouth, and Courtney again caught sight of the boy with green hair. He wiggled his eyebrows, and she raised her own in response, but her attention was caught by Lindsay excitedly tugging her sleeve.

“God, scan on Beth Dumptruck!” she giggled. Courtney followed her gaze. Beth looked flustered, glancing between the note and Brady at the jocks’ table. She was somehow doing this while continuing to shovel jelly into her mouth, and Courtney suddenly felt very sorry for her.

Heather had finally got her giggles under control, and she tutted in Beth’s direction. Not in pity, but in impatience.

“This is the part I hate,” she sighed. “The waiting. I’d say we’re, like, twenty minutes from major humiliation.” She spun on her heel. “Come on, Courtney.”

Courtney followed her out to the parking lot, hating herself for going along with Heather. They were approaching a group of heavy metalers, who were lazily leaning against the hood of a battered pickup truck. Heather repeated her spiel and waited for them to answer the bizarre question.

One of them, a tubby boy with greasy brown hair to his shoulders grinned at the question and nudged his friend in delight. “You get five million dollars but some Martians are going to zap you in two days. You hear that, Rock? That’s got to be the most spooky-ass question I’ve ever heard.”

Rock nodded in agreement, grinning as well. “If you want a good way to go out before the aliens land,” he started, and Heather readied her pen and clipboard, “get a lion from the zoo. Put a remote-control bomb up its butt. When the lion starts tearing you up, press the bomb button. You and the lion die as one.”

The other two leaning against the hood – a boy and a girl, who seemed to be a couple – nodded in agreement. “Cool.”

“Thank you,” Heather trilled, before dragging Courtney back inside. Courtney was too disturbed to respond.

Next they headed back into the cafeteria, where they approached Zoey Finn’s table again and repeated the question. Zoey raised her hand like she was in class, and Heather nodded at her, giving her permission to speak, with an air of bizarre delight. “I think we should use the money for an End-of-the-world get-together,” Zoey smiled sweetly. Her cheeks coloured. “We could invite _guys_.”

The jocks’ table was next, and the two girls approached it with some apprehension – and with good reason. A few seconds after Heather finished her introduction and question, Brady sputtered out some chicken to bellow, “I’d pay Madonna one million dollars to ride my face like the Kentucky Derby.” He swallowed and considered it for a moment, before adding, “She should be paying me, though.”

Thankfully, Heather dragged Courtney over to the Foodless Fund stand before she could curse the linebacker out for his disgusting sexism. Cody listened with interest, and carefully considered the question before beginning to answer. “This is important… with taxes, I’d only be getting 3.5 million, and…” Courtney tuned out.

When Cody had finished his longwinded reply (or perhaps been cut off by Heather), Courtney found herself being led into a dimly lit corridor full of smoke. The two girls coughed their way towards a group of stoners wearing tatty jeans and bomber jackets, and once again, Heather asked the question. Thankfully, this group’s answer was short:

“…what?”

As they made their way back to the cafeteria, Heather admired her list of answers, which was far longer than usual. “Look at all the answers those losers gave me,” she purred. “So pathetic. Makes me feel almost sorry for them… almost. Cody’s not changed a bit, and as for Zoey Finn? A party with boys! Or, as normal people call it, a party! Ha!”

“Damn you, Heather,” Courtney spoke out loud for the first time since leaving the geeks’ table. “Deep down all teenagers are the same. Didn’t you see The Breakfast Club?”

Heather didn’t even look up from her clipboard to snort derisively. “Look at me. I look great. I’m the girl in the commercials and the videos. I’m the babe in the bikini on the horse holding a Pepsi can. I’m the princess being spanked on the throne by Billy Idol’s guitarist’s guitar.” She finally looked up, giving Courtney a cold, pitying look. “What do I get out of being friends with losers? I give them a piece of a winner and they stain me with loserness. Just imagine somebody like your quasi-fat, goody-goody friend Zoey Finn doing a Crest commercial. No one would buy Crest.”

“Don’t tell me. Crest would be stained with loserness.”

“Yeah, and who wants that on their teeth?” Heather laughed. They’d arrived back at their table, and Lindsay was practically squirming with delight. Gwen had even looked up from her book in interest.

Lindsay pointed over at Beth’s table. “Oh God, here we go…”

Beth was getting up. She was stumbling over to where Brady and Scott sat in their bastion of vulgarity. She was mumbling something unintelligible in Brady’s direction. She was showing him the note…

Brady scanned the note, his laughter detonating with a terrifying cackle. Scott peered over at it and joined him, and soon the entire table was in hysterics. Beth looked ready to cry as she hurried out of the cafeteria. Heather, Gwen and Lindsay were laughing too, but Courtney turned away in disgust. Once again, she caught the green-haired boy staring at her, and could make out the same disturbed look on his face that she knew was currently adorning her own. She turned away, lurching towards the Foodless Fund stand and leaning against it. Cody was still hollering away.

“A dime increases the time! A buck brings good luck – oh, hi, Courtney. A five keeps the neighbourhood alive! A ten and you die without sin!”

Without her noticing, Heather had prowled over to Courtney with an unreadable expression on her face. She winged a twenty into the cashbox, and dragged Courtney away from the stand, clearly not wanting Cody to hear what she had to say.

“You wanted to become a member of the most powerful clique in school,” she reminded Courtney, who scowled at the memory of allowing Heather to mould her into the pseudo-Goddess everyone apparently viewed her as. “If I wasn’t already the head of it, I’d want the same thing.”

“I’m sorry?” Courtney feigned ignorance, but she knew exactly what Heather was getting at. “What are you oozing about?”

Heather rolled her eyes, but answered anyway. “That episode with the note back there was for all of us to enjoy, but you seem determined to ruin my day.”

Courtney let out a burst of fake laughter that made the nearest students turn around in curiosity. They immediately turned away again when they noticed who had let loose the laughter, though. No one wanted to be caught in Heather’s tunnel vision when Courtney undoubtedly pissed her off. “We made a girl want to consider suicide. What a scream. What a jest.”

Heather rolled her eyes, already grabbing her by the arm to drag her somewhere new, just as she had been all lunch. “Come on, you jerk. You know you used to have a sense of humour.”

They joined Lindsay and Gwen in the bathroom, lining up in front of the mirror to brush their hair. Lindsay and Heather were delighting in doing impressions of Beth speaking to Brady.

“Brady, let’ _th_ pa-arty!” Heather cackled, and Lindsay joined in.

“Brady, I ne-ed an orga- _th_ -m!

Gwen hadn’t joined in, instead retreating into a stall. Her gentle voice sliced through Lindsay’s giggles: “Courtney? Could you come back here for a sec?”

Heather and Lindsay paused in their laughter. “Gross!”

There was a lot about her friendship with these girls that Courtney hated, but nothing made her feel as bad as this task did. She raised her eyebrows at the two girls next to her and wiggled her right index finger. The nail was cut noticeably shorter than the rest. “A true best friend’s work is never done,” she quipped as she joined Gwen in the stall and locked the door.

Heather’s voice rang through the bathroom. “Grow up, Gwen. Bulimia is so ’87.”

“Colour me nauseous,” Lindsay gagged.

Gwen looked ashamed, and Courtney winced. “Maybe you should see a doctor about this.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She looked a little less embarrassed, but then Heather spoke again.

“Come on Gwen, we want another look at today’s lunch!”

“Jésus, don’t listen to them,” Courtney murmured, but Lindsay interrupted her.

“Did she have the pie or the ice-cream for desert?” she laughed. The cheerleader put on a game-show-host voice. “And for thirty points, the answer is…”

Gwen ignored her, lifting her battered book and smiling almost defiantly. “Yeah, you know Holden Caulfield in _The Catcher In The Rye_ wouldn’t put up with their bogus nonsense.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better move Holden out of the way or he’s going to get spewed,” Courtney muttered. Gwen nodded, putting down the book and opening her mouth, and Courtney took a deep breath and stuck her finger in. 

* * *

 

When they emerged from the bathroom, Courtney’s gaze was once again caught by the James Dean-esque guy sitting in the corner. He was staring into space, and Lindsay jabbed an elbow sharply into Courtney’s side.

“God, Courtney, drool much?” she laughed. “He’s new, in my Canadian History. His name’s Danny Dolittle, or David Dawson, or something like that.”

Courtney nodded, coming to a decision. “Heather, give me the clipboard.”

Heather raised an eyebrow, relinquishing her grip on her precious clipboard, and Courtney began walking towards the boy’s table, seemingly in a trance. Her friends gazed after her, Lindsay oinking out an amused sexual groan.

As Courtney reached the table, the boy looked up at her. He had teal eyes that glittered with both attraction and apprehension, and she gave him her best politician’s smile. “Hey there.”

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Greetings and salutations. You wouldn’t be the infamous Heather Chandler I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Courtney laughed – she was genuinely amused, but her laugh still sounded fake from faking laughter for so long. “No, I’m Courtney. Courtney Sawyer.” She glanced down at the clipboard to gather herself – something about his eyes made her want to keep staring into them forever. “Uh, this may seem like a stupid question…”

The boy raised his eyebrows, making the barbell-piercing glitter. “There are no stupid questions.”

Courtney raised her eyebrows right back. “You inherit five million dollars the same day aliens land on the Earth and say they’re gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do?”

The boy furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled incredulously. “That’s got to be the stupidest question I’ve ever heard,” he said suavely, making Courtney giggle again.

Brady and Scott glared jealously over from the jocks’ table as Courtney grinned warmly at the boy in the trench coat. “Who does that new kid think he is with that coat?” Brady snarled through a mouthful of potatoes. “Bo Diddley?”

Scott leaned back with a scowl. “Courtney’s into his act, no doubt.”

“Let’s kick his ass!”

“Shit, we’re seniors, Brady,” Scott rolled his eyes, yanking Brady back into his seat from where he’d half-risen to his feet. “Too old for that shit.” He smirked a little. “Let’s give him a good scare, though.”

The boy looked intrigued as he laconically answered the question. “Probably just row out to the middle of a lake. Bring along my Fender, some tequila, and some Bach.”

Courtney felt her cheeks flush a little. “How very,” she murmured, copying down his reply before looking up. “Hey, I didn’t catch your name.”

The boy grinned widely. “I didn’t throw it.”

 _Fuck_. Luckily, Heather appeared at Courtney’s shoulder before she could do something stupid, like melt into a puddle or ask the boy to marry her. “Come on,” she said sharply, and Courtney smiled dreamily at the boy.

“Later,” she breathed.

The boy looked her up and down with a very attractive half-smile. “Definitely.”

“ _Courtney!_ ” Heather hissed, and Courtney obediently followed her, somehow unable to wipe the grin off her face. The second she was out of sight, Brady and Scott moved into her place, staring down at the new kid with narrowed eyes. Brady stuck his finger into a piece of pie the boy hadn’t started on yet.

“You going to eat this?” he said softly.

Scott leaned in with icy eyes. “What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Muskoka, Ontario?”

The boy was silent, and Brady glared. “Answer him, dick!”

Scott grinned, turning to his partner in crime. “Hey, Brady, doesn’t this cafeteria have a ‘No Fags Allowed’ Rule?”

Brady grinned back. “Sure does.”

The boy leaned back in his seat, jutting his chin up confidently. “Yeah, it seems to have an open-door policy for assholes though, doesn’t it?”

Both jocks’ jaws dropped open in shock. “What did you say, dickhead?” Scott spluttered. He looked and sounded genuinely confused that someone had answered back.

The boy smirked. “I’ll, uh, repeat myself.” He stood gracefully, reached into his coat and pulled out a .357 Magnum, lifting it to point directly at them. Brady and Scott stepped back in shock, and the boy grinned and fired twice.


	2. Croquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many lovely comments already!! Everyone who commented on this is an angel and I love you. Here's chapter two as a thank you present. I know I should be working on The Shadow Phoenix but this is so much easier to write, mainly because I don't have to write action scenes or make up my own plot twists. Thank you!!!!

“God, they won’t _expel_ him!” Lindsay laughed. The four girls were in Courtney’s backyard, playing croquet and discussing the new kid’s devil-may-care attitude. “They’ll just suspend him for a week or so!”

“He used a real gun,” Heather said coldly. “They should throw his ass in _jail._ ”

“No way!” Courtney said – more defensively than she’d intended. But she couldn’t help but be impressed with the way the new kid had handled Brady and Scott. “He used blanks,” she reminded them. “All he really did was ruin a couple of pairs of underwear – and maybe not even that.” She caught Gwen’s eye with a grin. “Can you bleach out urine stains?”

Heather ignored Gwen and Lindsay’s giggles and continued to stare at her scarlet croquet ball. “You seem pretty amused,” she said softly – but still as cold as ever. “I thought you had given up on high-school guys?”

Courtney shrugged, blowing her bangs out of her face. “Never say never,” she quipped.

Heather scowled, and hit the red ball in the direction of Gwen’s green ball. They connected with a soft clunk. Gwen glanced up at Heather. “So, what’s it gonna be, Heather?” she asked. “Are you going to take the two shots, or send me out?”

Heather approached her slowly, an incredulous look on her pretty face. “Did you have a brain tumour for breakfast, Gwen? First you ask if you can be red, knowing that _I’m_ always red.” She carefully placed one foot on top of her red croquet ball, which was still touching Gwen’s green one, and smacked it hard with the mallet. The green ball went flying off behind a small water feature and landed next to the trees at the bottom of the garden.

It would be a near impossible shot, and they all knew it.

“Shit,” Gwen said softly. Heather grinned, lining up her next shot – but this one fell short, making her scowl.

“It’s your turn, Gwen.”

Gwen shook her head. “No, it’s Lindsay’s turn.” Lindsay obediently took her shot, hitting her yellow ball through a wicket with a squeal. Heather tossed her hair, seemingly composing herself.

“Anyway, I can say ‘never’ to high-school guys. I’ve got Alejandro.”

Lindsay giggled childishly. “ _King_ Alejandro.” Alejandro was no king – he was a preppy, somewhat slimy twenty-something who was a student at the local University. To Heather, he served the dual purpose of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘party-invitation-ticket’, usually operating under the agreement that she would bring a ‘hot Westerberg girl’ for one of his equally slimy friends to hook up with. But with the way Heather went on about him, he might as well be royalty.

Heather pursed her lips. “Maybe when you hit maturity you'll understand the diff between a Remington University man like Alejandro and a Westerberg boy like Brady ‘Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am’ Sweeney.”

Lindsay shrugged, unperturbed. “Brady’s sweet. Yo Gwen, you’re up.”

Gwen made her way around the water feature and positioned herself next to the croquet ball. Her friends offered ‘encouragement’ from the other side of the fountain.

“Easy shot, Gwen,” Heather smirked.

“No way, no day,” Lindsay shook her head.

“Give it up, girl,” Courtney added.

Gwen scowled, and carefully hit the ball. It clanged off the metal clothesline pole, thunked off a tree, and rolled through the wicket. Heather looked astounded.

“God, that was _incredible_!” Lindsay beamed.

“Holy shit,” Courtney added.

Heather narrowed her eyes. “What. A. Shot,” she said flatly.

Gwen smiled and made her way back over to the garden. “Your turn, Lindsay.”

Lindsay hit her ball towards another wicket, missing it, before looking over at Heather and Courtney with envious blue eyes. “So, tonight’s the big night. You two excited?”

Heather pursed her lips. “I’m giving Courtney her shot. Her first Remington party.” Heather usually brought Lindsay to these kinds of functions, but for some reason she’d decided to bring Courtney to this one, and now she looked over at her with a threatening grin playing around her mouth. “You blow it tonight, girl, and it’s keggers with kids all next year.”

“Crap,” Courtney sighed. She made to take her shot, but missed, and looked back up at Heather. “So, who’s this Topher guy I’ve been set up with? Witty and urbane pre-lawyer or albino accountant?”

“Don’t worry,” Heather assured her coolly. “Alejandro says he’s very, so he’s very.” Once again, she smacked her ball into Gwen’s. Gwen groaned.

“ _Why?_ ”

Heather shrugged. “Why not?” She smiled, lined herself up, and slammed Gwen’s ball back into the flowerbed. Gwen turned to follow it with a sigh, but luckily, Courtney’s mother emerged from the house and interrupted her.

“Lindsay, your mother’s here,” she called to the girls. Lindsay grabbed her croquet mallet and dug the handle into the ground.

“Come on, whoever wants a ride,” she smiled. Heather and Gwen dropped their croquet mallets next to Lindsay’s and smiled at Mrs Sawyer as they headed back into the house. Courtney hurried to remove Gwen’s ball from the flowerbed, dropping it next to the mallets, and her dad called over to her as he sat down in one of the deck chairs surrounding the table on the patio, Robert Ludlum book open on his knees.

“Take a break, Courtney, sit down.”

Courtney smiled and sank into the deck chair next to his, while her mother placed a tray of pâté on the table and joined them. Mr Sawyer smiled at his daughter. “So, what was the first week of Spring Vacation withdrawal like?”

Courtney shrugged. “I don’t know, it was OK, I guess.”

Mrs Sawyer delicately popped a piece of pâté into her mouth and swallowed it without chewing. “Hey kid, isn’t the prom coming up?” She smiled conspiratorially.

Courtney nodded. “I guess.” Prom didn’t interest her much. It was just another school dance, only this one was pretending to be the ‘gateway into the adult world’, their first taste of freedom. It had definitely lost its appeal after Courtney had begun attending the kind of parties Heather and Lindsay liked to throw.

Her mother was undeterred though. “Any contestants worth mentioning?”

Come to think of it, prom was a little more appealing after what had happened in the cafeteria this afternoon, and Courtney finally returned her mother’s conspiratorial grin. “May _be_. There’s kind of a ‘dark horse’ in the running.”

While her mother looked delighted at Courtney’s newfound enthusiasm, her father clearly hadn’t been paying attention, nose firmly in his book. “Goddamn,” he sighed, looking up. “Will somebody please tell me why I read this spy crap?”

Courtney’s grin widened. “Because you’re an idiot.” It was an old joke between them – ‘Why do I do this?’ ‘Because you’re an idiot.’ The joke had been used less and less frequently as Courtney got older, but it was still a nice occasional reminder of being young and innocent and not even knowing what a clique was.

Her father raised his eyebrows with a goofy grin. “Oh yeah, that’s it.”

Mrs Sawyer smiled fondly, shaking her head. “You two…”

Courtney grabbed a piece of pâté and chewed it hurriedly. “Great pâté, mom, but I’m going to have to motor if I want to be ready for that party tonight.” She got to her feet and headed back into the house.

* * *

 

“Corn Nuts! Don’t forget to buy Corn Nuts!” Heather Chandler’s voice rang across the parking lot of the 7-11 from the window of her red Volkswagen Cabriolet. Courtney nodded as she tottered through the parking lot on her ridiculous built-for-style-not-comfort high-heels. “And not barbecue!”

“Yes, Heather,” Courtney called back as she pushed open the door and her eyesight was assaulted by fluorescent tube lighting. The door swung shut behind her, like a barrier protecting her from Heather’s instructions. Dressed-to-massacre in a stylish grey off-the-shoulder jumper and a tight black pinafore dress that hugged her curves, she looked surreally out of place in the Snappy Snack Shack. Courtney headed to the Corn Nuts display and grabbed a bag of dill-pickle flavour, but nearly dropped it upon hearing the voice behind her.

“Greetings and salutations. You going to pull a Big Gulp with that?” Courtney turned, and the boy from the cafeteria grinned back at her. He was still wearing his black gunslinger coat, which was still too big for him, and a lopsided smile that sent her heartbeat into overdrive. Hurriedly recalling everything Heather and Lindsay had ever told her about boys, she leaned back and surveyed him through her dark lashes with a haughty smile.

“No, but if you tell me your name I’ll let you buy me a Slushy.”

The boy grinned and held out a hand for her to shake. “I’ll end the suspense. Duncan Dean, at your service.” His nose scrunched up when he grinned, and she noticed that he had a little stud in his left nostril, to match the barbell in his eyebrow.

Courtney shook his hand with a giggle. “So, Duncan Dean. You know your convenience store-speak pretty well.”

Duncan laughed. “I’ve been moved around all my life; Markham, Trout River, Quebec, Toronto, Muskoka Ontario, there’s always a 7-11. Any town, any time, I can pop a Ham and Cheese in the microwave and feast on a Turbo Dog.” He tapped his forehead with a wink. “Keeps me sane.”

“Really?” Courtney challenged. “That thing in the caf today was pretty severe.”

Duncan shrugged. “The extreme always makes in impression,” he said wisely. “But you’re right, it was severe.” He reached for a plastic cup. “Did you say a Cherry or Coke slushy?”

“I didn’t,” Courtney smirked. “Cherry.” Duncan grinned right back at her.

After paying for their snacks, they left the convenience store, and Duncan leaned against a motorcycle parked by the entrance. Courtney sipped her drink as she admired it. “Great bike.” The sound of Heather’s car horn blared through the parking lot, and Courtney threw a glare over her shoulder. Heather glared back, making a ‘move along’ gesture. Maybe it was Duncan’s presence, or maybe it was the sugar rush, but something gave Courtney the courage to ignore her and turn back to the boy in the trench coat, who was currently lighting up a cigarette. He smiled at her compliment.

“Just a humble perk from my dad’s Construction Company.” He took a puff, looking contemplative, before adding, “Or should I say Deconstruction Company?”

“I don’t know, should you?”

Duncan shrugged. “My father seems to enjoy tearing things down more than putting things up. Seen the commercial? ‘I’m Big Bud Dean, and if it’s in your way I’ll make your day!’”

“Right!” Courtney said excitedly, recognising the jingle. “Then he pulls the plunger and the screen blows up –” she noticed the way Duncan’s face had settled into icy indifference, and it was a second before she realised what was wrong. “Wait… that’s your _dad?_ ”

“In all his toxic glory,” Duncan said lightly, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. He shrugged, and the warmth returned to his voice. “But everyone’s life’s got static. Or is your life perfect?”

Courtney snorted. “Oh, sure, I’m on my way to a party at Remington University with the most popular girl in school.” The car horn sounded again, and she winced. “No, my life’s not perfect,” she sighed, holding up a hand with two fingers to Heather. _Two minutes._ From the lack of sound of compressed air, Heather seemed placated. “I don’t really like my friends.”

Duncan laughed, tapping the ash off his cigarette. He had a nice laugh. Nothing about it was faked, and it was a nice change. “I don’t really like your friends either.”

“It’s like…” Courtney made a frustrated noise as she searched for the right words, “they’re people I work with, and our job is being popular and shit.”

Duncan’s laughter died down, and he looked her seriously in the eyes. “Maybe it’s time you took a vacation.”

* * *

 

Courtney’s detour to talk to Duncan meant that they were fashionably late to the party. Heather led her through hallways and up stairs until they arrived at the correct dorm on the first floor. Alejandro was waiting for them outside, and didn’t waste any time in wrapping an arm around Heather’s waist and leading the two girls into the cramped, eclectically tacky dorm room. Music was pounding through the entire building, meaning they had to shout to be heard. Two boys were sitting on a cluttered desk, chatting it up. They both wore polyester shirts and worn corduroys; Courtney and Heather’s high-couture clothes stood out here.

Alejandro pointed to a bed piled high with various jackets and sweaters. “Throw your coats on the bed, girls.”

As Courtney removed her black pea coat, she caught a snippet of the conversation of the boys on the desk.

“That exam was so bogus.”

“Oh, I _know_ … which exam?”

Courtney could already feel the headache coming on. It got worse when Alejandro pointed to the first boy, who had brown hair pushed back off his forehead. “Courtney, this is Topher. Topher, this is Courtney, Heather’s friend I told you about.”

Topher slid off the desk, eyes already flicking up and down Courtney’s body. “Excellent,” he laughed, and Courtney gave an uncomfortable smile. “So, did you girls bring your partying slippers?”

Heather tossed her perfectly curled black hair. She wasn’t wearing her scrunchie tonight. “Yeah,” she laughed. “Let’s party.” Courtney frowned. Heather’s voice was still cool and confident, but she sounded the most uncomfortable Courtney had ever heard her. It was nothing more than a tiny waver in her laugh, but still, it made Courtney tense up.

Alejandro laughed and nudged Topher. “She loves to party.” Topher grinned and whispered something to Alejandro that made both of them snarl off a laugh. Courtney forced her smile to stay in place.

_For Heather. I’m doing this for Heather._


	3. Party

Courtney sat alone at her desk, sobbing angrily as she scribbled in her diary. It had to be nearly 2 in the morning, but both sleep and calm were avoiding her like she was poisonous. She felt like she might explode from the rage bubbling up inside her. She’d definitely never felt any anger as strongly as this before. She and Heather had both crossed a line that night that they could never retreat from.

_Dear Diary –_

_I want to kill, and you have to believe it’s for more than selfish reasons, more than a spoke in my menstrual cycle._

_You have to believe me._

* * *

**About four hours earlier**

Heather and Alejandro had vanished from the party together shortly after the girls had arrived, leaving Courtney alone with Topher. He’d handed her a plastic cup of beer, which she’d politely accepted, despite hating the taste. Then he’d begun trying to make small talk.

“So, are you a cheerleader?”

Courtney rolled her eyes before replying flatly. “No. Not at all.”

“You’re pretty enough to be one,” Topher smarmed.

“Gee, thanks.”

Topher hadn’t taken the hint though. “It’s so great to be able to talk to a girl and not have to ask ‘What’s your major?’” he chuckled awkwardly. “I hate that.” Courtney smiled blithely and took a sip of beer, wincing. Topher copied her, but the pause in conversation could only last so long.

“So… when you go to college, what kind of subjects do you think you’ll study?”

* * *

 

As this was happening, Heather and Alejandro were in Alejandro’s bedroom, surrounded by obnoxious Ferrari posters while they kissed on his bed – well, Alejandro was kissing Heather, who awkwardly pulled away after a few moments.

“Come on, Al, shouldn’t we go back to the party?”

Alejandro winced at the nickname, but continued pulling her closer. “We will, don’t worry,” he assured her, fumbling with his fly. “You’re just so hot tonight. I can’t control myself.” Heather nodded and obediently yielded when he began pushing her head down. 

* * *

 

Topher was still trying to draw Courtney into conversation, and she continued to play dumb. She’d hated his kind of college boys even before meeting Duncan, and hated them more than ever now she knew that someone so anti-jerk-culture existed.

“So what do you say we head up to my room and have a real party?” Topher suggested. “I’ve got the best Windham Hill CD collection in the dorm.”

You didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to work out what he was implying, but thankfully, Topher’s friend from earlier had approached before she could tell him exactly what she thought of that idea.

“Christopher,” his friend sing-songed, clearly more than a little drunk already, “Zeke’s looking for you. He says he owes you for blow and he just got some product himself.”

“You’re kidding,” Topher said disbelievingly. “That pecker actually scored something on his own?”

His friend shrugged, already ambling off. “He’s in Amy’s room, big guy. Party up.”

“Excellent!” Topher chuckled, wrapping an arm around Courtney’s shoulders. “Courtney, ever do cocaine?”

Courtney ducked away from him. “Ever since Phil Collins did that anti-drug thing on MTV, I refuse everything,” she informed him flatly, to which he laughed obnoxiously.

“Phil Collins? Are you sure he isn’t drinking and driving?”

“Jésus, right, then why don’t I do drugs?” Courtney muttered sarcastically. Topher clearly hadn’t picked up on her sarcasm, but thankfully, let her be.

“Right. Hey, don’t run away now,” he teased, before squirming away. Courtney waited until he was out of sight before dashing from the hallway back into the room where she’d left her coat.

* * *

 

**Present**

_Seventeen is the last year Mom buys the Twinkies. When you make the jump from working weekends at Pizza Hut to thirty years at I.B.M., you lose something. Not innocence – power._

Her cat, Brittany, chose that moment to jump onto the desk, landing on her diary. Courtney grabbed her around the middle and deposited her on the floor, and the Maine Coone screeched and angrily leapt onto the bed, tucking her fluffy tail around her body. Courtney continued to scribble in her diary.

_Christ, I can’t explain it, but I’m allowed an understanding that my parents and these Remington University assholes have chosen to ignore. I understand that I must stop Heather._

* * *

 

**Three hours ago**

Courtney collapsed onto a sofa in the dorm, snatching up a bottle of vodka from the stockpile of liquor at the end of the bed. She poured some into her cup of beer and took a sip, before promptly spitting it back into the cup and tossing it onto the desk next to her. She vaguely remembered having a 7-11 box of matches in her coat pocket, and rummaged through the pile until she found it. Slouching back onto the sofa, she pulled a match from the box and lit it. Something in the back of her head told her to touch it, and she found herself bringing the match closer to her hand until she could feel the heat coming off it. The heat seemed to snap her out of her trance, and she flung the match away from her. It landed in her abandoned drink, setting the vodka on fire. Courtney laughed almost automatically, although it had a hollow quality to it, and hurried to toss the cup out of the window. She didn’t notice it landing in a rusted garbage can under the window, the flames spreading to the trash… 

* * *

 

Heather found herself alone in a bathroom, and snatched up a glass that had been propped next to one of the sinks. As she filled it, she took in her own appearance in the mirror. Her hair, which had been perfectly coiffed when she’d arrived at the party, was now flat and pushed out of place. Her pearl necklace hung awkwardly around her neck, and there was a stain on the front of her stylish red dress. She glared, flicking off the tap, and gargled the water, before spitting it at the mirror. 

* * *

 

Courtney closed the window just as Topher opened the door. “How’s my little cheerleader?” he chirped. White powder crusted the rim of one nostril, and his pupils were tiny. He shut the door behind him, grinning at her, and she stared stonily back. “Now I know everyone at your high school isn’t so uptight,” he wheedled. “Come on!”

Courtney backed away, stomach churning. “Hey really, I don’t feel so great –” she started, but he interrupted her, flopping down on the bed and bouncing.

“Let’s do it on the coats, it’ll be excellent!”

Enough was enough. It was time to blow this popsicle stand. Courtney gave him another flat smile. “I have a little prepared speech I give when my suitor wants more than I like to give him,” she informed him. “Gee, Blank, I had a nice –”

Topher once again interrupted her, leaning back to grin at her upside down. “Save the speeches for Malcolm X,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I just wanna get laid.”

Courtney snapped. “You don’t deserve my _fucking_ speech!” she hissed. With that, she yanked her coat from underneath him, making him slide head-first onto the floor, and stormed out of the dorm and into the hallway. People were staring at her, and she slowed down as she continued towards the door. Her stomach churned, and her head was spinning from the bitter smell of smoke that seemed a staple of all college parties. Breathing deeply, she leaned her head against the wall and glanced over her shoulder. Her headache had calmed, but returned in full force when she noticed Topher slithering out of the dorm and down the hall towards where Alejandro was stood with Heather on his arm, chatting to some of his friends with an easy smile on his face. The smile diminished slightly when Topher hissed something into his ear, and he turned to Heather, muttering something to her. Heather set down her beer and paced towards Courtney, who realised too late that she was in trouble.

“What’s your damage?” Heather hissed. “Topher says you’re being a real _cooze.”_

Courtney stared up at the taller girl desperately. “Heather, I feel awful, like I’m going to throw up. Can we jam, _please?”_

Heather’s jaw dropped. “No,” she said incredulously. “ _Hell_ no!”

Courtney lurched forward and promptly emptied her stomach onto the carpet. As she straightened back up, a coldly satisfied smile broke across Heather’s face.

* * *

 

** Present **

_Zoey Finn was a true friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatchdogs and Diet Cokeheads. Killing Heather would be like offing the Wicked Witch of the West. Or is it East? West! God, I sound like a fucking psycho._

_Tomorrow I’ll be kissing her aerobicized ass, but tonight, let me dream of a world without Heather. A world where I am free._  

* * *

 

**Two hours ago**

Courtney hurried out of the dorm and into the alley, where the trashcan she’d unintentionally set light was still bellowing like Mount Vesuvius, throwing grotesque shadows around the liminal space. Heather followed her sedately, but her eyes were blazing.

“You. Stupid. _Fuck!”_ she hissed. Courtney turned to her with a glare.

“You goddamn bitch!” she snarled back. The flames bathed Heather’s face in a demonic glow as her composure snapped.

“You were nothing before you met me!” Heather shrieked. “You were playing Barbies with Zoey Finn! You were a Brownie. You were a Bluebird! You were a Girl Scout _Cookie!_ I got you into a Remington Party, and what’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet! I got paid in _puke!”_

Courtney glared coldly back. She was so done with Heather, done with all of this. “Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.”

Heather’s eyes widened, but she composed herself in record time, and her voice was the iciest Courtney had ever heard it. “Monday morning, you’re history,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell everyone about tonight. You’ll be less than a nobody; you’ll be an ex-somebody. Not even the losers will touch you. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg’s going to let you play their reindeer games.” She turned and headed back inside. Courtney stood motionless for what seemed like hours, although it was barely more than a few seconds, before fleeing. 

* * *

 

**Present.**

Her entry complete, Courtney let out a final sob before slamming the diary shut and flinging it across the room. Brittany hissed as it crashed into the wall next to the window, making the person climbing into the room fall off the sill with a crash.

Wait.

What?

Duncan Dean straightened up, brushing his coat off. “Dreadful etiquette. I apologise,” he said, smiling softly at her. Courtney huffed in disbelief, a smile tugging at her own mouth.

“S’okay,” she murmured. Duncan picked up the diary and handed it back to her.

“I saw the croquet set-up in the back. Up for a match?”

The normal question in such an abnormal situation was like a welcoming tug out of her own head, and Courtney smiled fully for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Sure. But I’m Blue.” 

* * *

 

**An hour later**

The garden was blanketed in both serenity and abandoned clothes. Next to the first wicket rested a pair of black high-heeled shoes and a pair of battered red Converse.

“Goddamn. No wonder you looked so mangled when I came through the window.”

A pair of blue stockings and a pair of white boys’ socks were crumpled by the next wicket.

“I’ve always treated Heather’s teen queen power plays as bullshit…” Courtney paused, staring over at the third wicket, where her stylish grey jumper and Duncan’s black skull-adorned shirt were piled together, “…but I’m really scared. Who am I going to eat lunch with on Monday?” she chuckled rawly. “I sound like an Afterschool Special.” Her black pinafore dress was resting next to Duncan’s torn jeans at the final wicket, and there was a pause before Duncan changed the subject.

“That was my first game of Strip Croquet, you know. I thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Courtney chuckled. “It’s a lot more fun than just flinging off your clothes and boning away on the neighbour’s swing set.” Her blue mallet had been staked into the ground, and her blue lace underwear hung on one end, Duncan’s white boxers on the other.

“Well, I don’t know,” Duncan chuckled. “There’s something to be said for – ouch!” Courtney pinched him, giggling. They were artfully entangled on the hammock that hung under the willow tree at the end of the garden, with Duncan’s gunslinger coat draped over them like a blanket. Courtney reached up and pulled him into a warm kiss, laughing uneasily when it ended.

“What a night,” she sighed. Duncan gently kissed her on the neck, and her eyes fluttered shut. “What a life. I almost moved into high school out of the sixth grade, because I was some kinda genius,” she murmured, unsure quite why she was confessing this to him. They’d only met less than twelve hours ago, but she already trusted him more than anyone else in her life. “We all decided to chuck the idea because I’d have trouble making friends, blah-blah-blah.” Courtney opened her eyes again as Duncan continued to kiss up her neck and moved onto her cheek, but somehow she knew he was listening intently. “Now blah-blah-blah is all I do. I use my grand I.Q. to figure out what gloss to wear and how to hit three keggers before curfew.” She laughed bitterly. “Some genius.”

Duncan pulled away, staring up the stars contemplatively. “Heather Chandler is one bitch who deserves to die,” he said quietly. Courtney shook her head.

“Killing her won’t solve anything.”

“A well-timed lightning bolt through her window and Monday morning, all her little cronies, shit, everybody would be cast fucking adrift.”

"Well then, I’ll pray for rain,” Courtney said flatly, before laughing and pulling him into another kiss. He smiled at her when she pulled away this time.

“I… I guess I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about,” he laughed quietly, eyes twinkling. Courtney bit her lip with a grin.

“I know exactly what the hell you’re talking about,” she informed him. “And you’re right. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Let’s just grow up, be adults, and die.”

Duncan nuzzled her now-messy hair. “Good plan,” he chuckled quietly, and Courtney’s eyes glittered with mischief.

“But before that,” she grinned impishly, “I’d like to see Heather Chandler puke her guts out.”


	4. Bleach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Duncan play a prank on Heather that goes very, very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains mild gore that might make you feel a bit nauseous. If you know the plot of Heathers or you've read the tags, you'll know what to expect, but I'm telling you now that there is gore in this chapter. I like to get a bit gruesome sometimes.

Heather Chandler’s bedroom was lushly and expensively furnished: a four-poster bed against the back wall, draped in red velvet with pink silk bed-sheets; white lacquered chest-of-drawers, wardrobe, dressing table, and desk-and-chair set; plush red velvet arm chairs against the walls; fluffy pink rugs on the floor; and in the centre, an eyecatching glass coffee table. Heather herself, however, was unable to appreciate her beautiful surroundings due to her pounding headache and churning stomach as she lay sprawled and semi-awake in the centre of her bed, the pink silk twisted artfully around her. Hungover Heather was generally even crabbier than regular Heather, and it showed when her mother called through to her:

“We are leaving for your grandmother’s soon, if you care to join us…”

“Bag that,” Heather snarled at the closed door.

“Is that a ‘No’ in your lingo?” Mrs Chandler questioned. Heather raised her right middle finger in the direction of the door.

“Lingo this.”

Mr and Mrs Chandler left soon after that, and it was maybe ten minutes before the back door into the kitchen swung open, and two silhouettes crept into the kitchen, bathed in early-morning light.

“Trust me,” the shorter figure murmured. “She skips the Saturday morning trip to Grandma’s even when she’s _not_ hungover.”

The taller figure grinned mischievously. “Then let’s just concoct ourselves a little hangover cure that’ll induce her to spew red, white, and blue.”

They were, of course, Courtney and Duncan, sneaking over to exact revenge on Heather for all she’d done to hurt Courtney in the past few years. This would be Courtney’s final interaction with her, the bargaining chip that would hopefully prevent Heather from ruining her reputation – or at least, stop the bullying and social isolation that would otherwise follow.

Courtney headed for the fridge, while Duncan began riffling through the cupboard under the sink. He needn’t have bothered though, because an idea came to Courtney the second she spied the two cartons in the little door-shelf. “What about orange juice and milk?” she suggested. “What’s the upchuck factor on that?”

Duncan stopped his rustling, and held up the bottle he’d found with a wicked grin. “I’m a No Rust Build-Up man, myself.”

Courtney narrowed her eyes at the bright blue bottle, and snorted derisively. “Don’t be a dick. That stuff’ll kill her.” Duncan looked up, and they made somewhat-queasy eye-contact. Courtney returned to examining the contents of the fridge, while Duncan amused himself by mixing the various cleaning products under the sink into a glass beer mug. “O-kay…” Courtney hummed, having gone through her options. “How about we cook up some soup and put it in a Coke? That’s pretty sick, eh?” She held up two cans with the flair of a game-show presenter. “Now, should it be Chicken-Noodle or Bean-with-Bacon?”

Duncan huffed his green-tipped fringe out of his eyes and held up the glass, which was now filled with strange blue liquid. “Man, Princess, pull the plug on that shit. I say we go with Big Blue here.”

Courtney stared at the concoction, eyes roving over the various bottles and tubs Duncan had opened to make it. _Maybe… NO!_ She shook her head, forcing her thoughts away from the tempting… “What are you _doing?_ You can’t just go…” She cut herself off, because a very worrying voice in the back of her head had just piped up, _Why not?_ Shaking her head again to clear it, she reverted to her Cafeteria Politician voice. “Besides, she’d never drink anything that looks like that.”

Duncan shrugged and reached back up to the cupboard where he’d found the beer glass, pulling down a plain white ceramic mug. “Okay, so we’ll use this. She won’t know what she’s drinking.” With an air of suave triumph, he poured the poison into it. Courtney stared at the mug, her mind spinning, before decisively turning back to the fridge and removing the cartons of milk and juice. She stomped over to him and banged them onto the counter.

“Just give me a cup, jerk,” she muttered icily, and Duncan sheepishly pulled down a second mug. Courtney snatched it, before filling it halfway with orange juice and topping it up with milk. The white liquid was far less threatening than the other mixture, and Courtney wondered what the result would look like when Heather drank it. Hopefully she’d choke. Maybe spew if they were lucky. Perhaps something was still missing though. “Milk and orange juice,” she announced, tilting her head. “Hmmmm. Maybe we could cough a phlegm globber in it or something.” Duncan shrug-nodded, and the two of them began coughing harshly and clearing their throats. They stopped after about 20 seconds, though. “No luck?” Courtney muttered, and Duncan shook his head, and she sighed, but finally shrugged. “Well, milk and orange juice will do quite nicely.”

Duncan leaned back against the counter. “Chicken.”

“You’re not funny.” Duncan pouted, and stood still, apparently sulking, while Courtney cleared the countertop and shoved the cleaning products back under the sink. She paused to glare at the tempting blue fluid in the mug, but a pair of lips on the back of her neck distracted her.

“I’m sorry,” Duncan muttered, wrapping his arms around her waist. Courtney grinned begrudgingly and turned to kiss him back.

“Bonehead.”

Their lips met, and for a second, Courtney quite forgot where she was. This was nice. She could stay here for a while… but the prospect of revenge on Heather reminded her to get a move on, and, not looking away from Duncan’s charming teal eyes, she reached dreamily for the cup. Her hand made contact with cool porcelain, and she pulled away from him, backing towards the door with a smile.

Duncan grinned back, before glancing down at the cups still on the counter, and his eyes widened. The one still sitting on the pale marble was filled with white liquid. Which meant that the one in Courtney’s hand –

“Princess?”

“Hmm?”

He opened his mouth to tell her she’d made a mistake, that she’d grabbed the wrong cup in a moment of distraction – but something (he wasn’t sure what) suddenly told him not to, so he shook his head instead.

“Nothing. I’ll carry the cup.”

Heather was sprawled out in her bed, her dark hair splayed out like a halo and her pink silk duvet barely covering her scant pyjamas. There was something peaceful about her face in this state, the anger and haughtiness dimmed by exhaustion, leaving her looking far younger than usual. Or maybe it was the lack of makeup.

“Morning, Heather,” Courtney said.

And like that, the peace was gone. Heather ‘s eyelids fluttered, and she stretched like a cat before sitting up in bed. She stared coolly at the girl who’d woken her from her slumber, before her eyes travelled over to Courtney’s dark-haired companion. “Courtney. And Jesse James. _Quelle surprise._ ” She stared at Duncan coldly through her dark lashes. “Hear about Courtney’s affection for regurgitation?”

Courtney smiled at Heather. Not her real smile; her politician smile. “We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean, last night.” She sounded confidently diplomatic, but she was grasping at straws.

Maybe Heather knew that. Maybe she didn't. Either way, her response sent a shiver down Courtney’s spine. “ _Did_ we?” The queen bee leaned back, flicking her hair out of her face. “How the hell’d you get in here?”

Duncan stepped in, avoiding the question with the skill of someone used to being interviewed. Or interrogated. “Courtney knew you’d have a hangover, so I whipped this up for you,” he said, raising his eyebrows and positively milking the charm. “It’s a family recipe.” He offered her the cup, and Heather snorted.

“Did you put a phlegm globber in it or something?” she scowled. “I’m not drinking that piss.”

Duncan shrugged and backed away from the bed. “Eh, this stuff would probably be too intense for you anyway.”

Heather laughed, throwing her head back, but there was no humour in her demeanour. “Intense? Grow up. You think I’ll drink it just because you call me _chicken?”_ Her voice said ‘get real’, but the flicker in her grey eyes told Courtney everything she needed to know. She caught Duncan’s eye, raising her eyebrows at him, and Duncan caught on, raising his own back and throwing in a half-shrug for good measure. Heather scowled fiercely, and pushed back her covers, getting to her feet and storming over to Duncan. “Just give me the cup, jerk.”

Duncan obediently handed her the cup, and Heather tossed her head back as she drained it, as if swallowing a jello-shot. Courtney grinned in anticipation –

But something was wrong. Heather’s pale, flawless skin was suddenly ashen. Her eyes were round and confused and _scared._ And her mouth was stained a horribly familiar blue.

Heather grabbed at her throat, gagging. She was hyperventilating. Blue was streaming down her chin, mixing with foamy white spit – and now the terrifying scarlet of blood. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her mouth worked desperately. “Corn nuts!” she choked out.

Then she fell face forward through the glass coffee table, which smashed into a thousand pieces, and went still.

She was dead.

Duncan’s face had turned the same pure white as the wallpaper. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

Courtney felt as though she might be sick. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it. I just killed my best friend.”

“And your worst enemy,” Duncan pointed out.

Courtney shook her head. “Same difference.” Her head was spinning, and she felt as though she might be sick. “Jésus, I’m gonna…” she sank into the plush red armchair next to the desk.

Duncan choked out a hollow, shocked laugh. “What are we going to tell the cops?” he whispered. “‘Fuck it if she can’t take a joke, Sarge.’”

“Stop kidding around,” Courtney whimpered. “The police… oh no, oh God… I can’t believe this is my life. I’m going to have to send my S.A.T. scores to Edmonton instead of McGill.”

Duncan sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m just a little freaked, you know,” he mumbled. There was silence for a moment, before he added, “At least you got what you wanted.”

“Don’t say that!” Courtney hissed. “It’s one thing to want someone out of your life. It’s another thing entirely to serve them a wake-up cup of Liquid Drainer… Don’t say…” She trailed off, staring into space, trying to process the situation, while Duncan turned to stare at the bedside table. His eye was caught by the slim yellow and black book at the top of the pile of reading material:

_**The Bell Jar** _

Duncan skimmed through his knowledge of the famous Sylvia Plath novel, something beginning to form in his mind, but the idea clicked into place as he caught sight of the headline of the magazine under the book: _**THE FALL OF THE AMERICAN TEEN.**_

“We did a murder…” he murmured, more to himself than to Courtney. She looked around anyway. “In Canada, that’s a crime. But… if this was, like… a suicide thing…”

“Like a suicide thing?” Courtney quavered. Duncan nodded.

“Adolescence is a period of life fraught with anxiety and confusion,” he quoted, remembering a pamphlet he’d read at a long-ago therapist’s office.

Courtney took a deep breath, catching his eye. “I can do Heather’s handwriting as well as my own,” she offered, and Duncan nodded. Courtney turned and reached for the stationary drawer in the desk, pulling out a notebook and a red pen. She turned to the first page, paused for a moment, and then began scrawling in the looping, elegant script, dictating as she went. “ _You might think what I’ve done is shocking;”_

Duncan took over. “ _to me though, suicide is the natural answer to the myriad of problems life has given me.”_

Courtney shook her head. “That’s good, but Heather would never use the word ‘myriad’.”

“This is the last thing she’ll ever write,” Duncan pointed out. “She’ll want to cash in on as many fifty-cent words as poss.”

“Yeah, but she missed ‘myriad’ on a vocab test two weeks ago, alright?”

Duncan nodded. “That only proves my point more! The word is a badge for her failures at school.”

Courtney nodded slowly. “You’re probably right… Okay. _People think just because you’re beautiful and popular, life is easy and fun. Nobody understood I had feelings too”._

_“I die knowing no one knew the real me._

_\- Heather Chandler_ ” Duncan finished. Courtney completed the signature and glanced up at him with an almost-smile.

“That’s good,” she mumbled. “Have you done this before?” Duncan was silent, and Courtney’s smile died as her eyes once again fell on the dead body that still lay silent on top of what used to be the coffee table.

* * *

In a place like Muskoka, Ontario, news travels fast no matter how mundane. Of course, a suicide was anything but mundane, especially that of a popular teenage girl, which was why the faculty of Westerburg High found themselves in a staff meeting on Monday morning. Principle Norbert Hatchett sighed and lit his pipe, gazing at his staff over the haze of cigarette smoke that filled the teachers’ lounge, before reaffirming his decision against cancelling classes.

“Any other Principle would take the same position,” he insisted. “Keep things business as usual.”

Counsellor Blaineley O’Halloran leaned forward, flicking the ash off her cigarette into an ashtray. “Heather Chandler’s not your everyday suicide, though,” she pointed out. “She was _very_ popular.”

Hatchett groaned and puffed his pipe. “Come on, Blaineley. I let the kids go before lunch and the switchboard’ll light up like a Christmas Tree.”

Blaineley raised her eyebrows. “The parents will be sympathetic, Norbert. These are troubled times for the young.”

Joshua Pope spoke up. “I must say I was impressed to see that she made proper use of the word ‘myriad’ in her suicide note after brutalizing it in a vocabulary test,” he hummed.

Miles Flemming, spiritualist, eccentricist, and Drama Teacher Extraordinaire, dramatically cut in. “I find it profoundly disturbing that we are told of a tragic destruction of youth and all we can talk about is adequate morning times and misused vocabulary words,” she announced, as a collective sigh swept the room, and Norbert Hatchett muttered something unsuitable for use in polite conversation under his breath. Miles ignored all of it, ploughing on. “The school, meaning both students and teachers, must revel in this revealing moment! I suggest we get everyone into the cafeteria and just talk. And feel. Together.”

Hatchett pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Ms Flemming. Call me when the shuttle lands,” he snarked, before returning to business. “This girl was one of the popular girls… was she the Head Cheerleader?”

Blaineley shook her head. “That would be Lindsay McNamara. Heather was the leader of her little clique.”

Hatchett sighed. “Damn. I’d be willing to go half a day for a cheerleader.”

“Let’s just pack it in an hour early,” Joshua suggested, and Hatchett considered the idea before nodding.

“Done. I hate Mondays.” 

* * *

 

In spite of Hatchett’s refusal of her suggestion to hold a group therapy session in the cafeteria, nothing could stop Miles Flemming once she’d put her mind to something. She couldn’t have the whole school, so her second period Drama class of Juniors would have to do. Unfortunately, seventeen-year-olds are difficult to wrangle at the best of times, especially when they’re filled with strong emotions, and doubly so when they don’t respect the wrangler. Still, she was trying her best.

“I said a circle, you imbeciles!”

Of course, sometimes your best isn’t good enough, and Miles Flemming glared out over the chaotic arrangement of chairs and desks put together by her pupils. This would probably be the best she got, though, so she accepted it and moved on. “Forget it! Just sit down.” She took a deep breath and gathered herself, before smiling sanctimoniously out at the class. “I’m just so _thrilled,”_ she paused dramatically, “to finally have an example of the profound sensitivity of which a human animal is capable. That example is Heather Chandler. I have… her note!” Miles melodramatically lifted the note into the air, soaking in the gasps of amazement with a satisfied smile. “I’ll pass the suicide note around the room so you can all feel its tragic beauty for yourself. Let us share together the feelings the suicide has spurred in us all. Who wants to begin?”

A girl with frizzy red hair, sporting an army jacket and a dull, hazy look in her eyes, raised her hand, and Miles nodded at her. “Yes?”

“I heard it was really gnarly,” the girl grinned. “She sucked down a bowl of multi-purpose deodorizing disinfectant and then smashed-”

“Now, now, Izzy, let’s not rehash the coroner’s report,” Miles tutted. “Let’s talk _emotions.”_

Cody Anderson raised his hand, and Miles pointed hopefully at him. “Um,” he began. His voice sounded hesitant, but became more confident as he continued. “Heather and I used to go out, but she said I was boring. I realise now that I wasn’t really boring. She was just dissatisfied with her life.”

Miles beamed. “That’s very good, Cody.”

At the back of the classroom, Courtney snorted a laugh, but as the class turned to stare at her, she hurriedly covered her face with her hands and pretended it was a sob. Miles gave her a pitying look.

“Dear Courtney, Heather was your soulmate….. Share.”

Courtney sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Heather was cool, but cruel,” she chose her words carefully. “The good looks and bad manners gave her power, but they could not give her happiness.” Several jaws dropped, and Courtney winced as the girl next to her handed her the suicide note. Her excellent penmanship winced back, and she hurriedly passed it on before continuing. “She realized the only way she could be happy was to give up her power. And the only way she could do that was Death.” As the students continued to stare at her, she awkwardly folded in on herself. Luckily, Miles’ attention was caught by a nerdy-looking boy raising his hand.

“Are we going to be tested on this?” 

* * *

 

Courtney drifted through the rest of the class and into her next one in a trance. Her ability to create truths for a captive audience made her feel queasy, and she didn’t pay attention to anything until the end of her PE class at the end of the day. They were in the changing room, and Lindsay was clipping on her gold hoop earrings while Courtney leaned against the lockers staring into space and Gwen scarfed down a bucket of chicken wings. Lindsay fixed her earrings in place before whining loudly.

“God, it’s so unfair. It’s just so _unfair!_ We should get a whole week off, not just an hour!”

Gwen continued gnawing on a chicken wing. “Write the School Board,” she suggested around it, and Courtney raised an eyebrow.

“Watch it, Gwen. You could actually be digesting food,” she snarked, but secretly she was relieved. She hadn’t seen Gwen eat this much since Freshman Year.

“Yeah, where’s your urge to purge?” Lindsay sniffed. Gwen burped loudly and unashamedly.

“Fuck it.” She flung the finished chicken wing over her shoulder, where it hit a sophomore squarely in the nose before plopping to the floor with a squelch. Courtney wrinkled her nose, but didn’t comment, and Lindsay absently swung open the little jewellery locker that had belonged to Heather. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she reached in and pulled out a red-and-blue watch.

“Hey, Heather left behind one of her Swatches!” She considered it, tilting her head, before tossing it to Courtney, who caught it with a spooked expression. “She’d want you to have it, Courtney. She always said you couldn’t accessorise for shit.”

Courtney silently clipped the watch onto her wrist. Its weight felt like a twisted kind of trophy. She was distracted by the girl with frizzy red hair approaching her; the same girl who’d ‘rehashed the coroner’s report’ that morning.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said dreamily, and Courtney noticed the unfocussed gaze behind her sunglasses and realized the girl was probably higher than the Empire State Building. “I thought she was just your usual airhead bitch. Guess I was wrong. Lot of us were.” She drifted off, and Courtney turned back to Gwen and Lindsay. Gwen had since acquired the largest Sno-cone Courtney had ever seen, and tutted as Izzy wandered away.

“What a waste,” she sighed. “Oh the Humanity.” Gwen immediately tucked in, and Courtney turned slowly on her heel. She needed something to slap her awake, out of this nightmare, this odd dystopian world she’d somehow landed in. The showers caught her eye, and she walked towards them like a zombie, reaching out and pushing the button. Cold water sprayed against her neat black dress, soaking her blue socks and flattening her hair against her head.

“Courtney? What are you doing?” Lindsay’s voice echoed into the shower room, but Courtney ignored her. _Wake up. Everything will be back to normal if you can wake up from this nightmare._  

* * *

 

Lindsay glared at Courtney as they left through the side-door of the building with Gwen. “That was seriously warped, Courtney,” she said disapprovingly. Courtney shrugged, tugging her jacket on over her soaked clothes.

“Uh-huh.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Gwen’s eyes widen excitedly. “TV Cameras!” the green-clad girl gasped. Courtney followed her gaze, and indeed, a TV camera crew had set up on the main steps and was interviewing students about the suicide. Before Courtney could even find it in herself to be disgusted, Gwen was dashing towards them. Lindsay _hmm_ ed and fluffed her hair, before following. Courtney looked away, and her eyes were drawn to the soaked, stopped Swatch on her wrist. She hurried to unclip it and drop it in a trashcan. 

* * *

 

 **“I choose to remember the good times,”** Gwen was saying into a microphone. **“Like when we got our ears pierced at the mall…”** Her pale, smug face was replaced with Lindsay’s calmer, more melancholy expression.

 **“I can still hear those late-night talks on the phone,”** she said, and her face was replaced with Cody’s.

**“The day I won her that stuffed rhino at the 4-H fair, she said to me –”**

“You’re an asshole!” Courtney yelled at the TV. “Mute him!” Duncan obediently pressed the mute button on the remote, and Cody’s voice was cut off.

“Mute!” Duncan chuckled. He and Courtney were lounging on the couch in his otherwise sparsely furnished living room, glaring at the TV. Courtney leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Next channel, darling.”

Duncan changed the channel, but he may as well not have bothered. Gwen Duke’s face popped back up on the screen, this time sitting on a staircase. Courtney’s jaw dropped.

 _“Jésus,_ Gwen, how many networks did you run to?!” Gwen’s face was replaced with Staci’s, and Courtney snorted, grabbing the remote. “Oh, I have to hear this.”

Staci was clad in a Drama Brothers T-shirt. Her bob was still stiff around her face, and a look of insincerity was clogging her pores. **“In my heart, Heather’s still alive,”** she was saying, but Courtney interrupted her.

“What are you talking about?” she snorted, pressing mute again. “She hated you! You hated her!” Courtney’s eyes flicked over to Duncan, and she noticed his bemused grin. “What are you smiling at?”

Duncan shook his head, still grinning. “Heather Chandler is more popular than ever now,” he chuckled. Courtney blew her bangs out of her eyes.

“Yeah. Scary stuff.”

Just then, Duncan glanced over her shoulder, his grin being replaced with a mischievous half-smile. For some inexplicable reason, he chose that moment to call out, “Why son, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Courtney turned, and laid eyes upon a man who could only be Duncan’s father. He had the same chiselled jawline, the same dark hair, and the same snub nose. His eyes were a cold grey, though. There was something in them that made Courtney shiver.

“Hey Dad, who was work today?” the man said. He wore a smart suit, but he loosened his tie, flinging it over his shoulder as he approached the treadmill next to the couch. It was the only other piece of furniture in the room, apart from a rack of weights in the corner. Duncan’s father stepped onto the treadmill, pressed the on button, and began speedwalking. _The Brady Bunch_ was now playing on the TV, adding another odd juxtaposition to a room already full of them. “It was miserable,” he harrumphed. “Some damn tribe of withered old bitches doesn’t want us to terminate that fleabag hotel. All because Glenn Miller and his band once took a shit there. It’s just like Alaska.” He raised his chin in Duncan’s direction. “Do you remember fucking Alaska?”

“That was the one with the snowstorm, right?” Duncan chuckled, but his laugh didn’t reach his eyes.

His father laughed too, but this laugh was cold in an entirely different way. “The **Save The Memorial Oak Tree Society**. Showed those fucks.”

Duncan turned back to Courtney to explain, wearing a bemused smile. “Thirty Canada Day fireworks attached to the trunk. Arraigned but Acquitted.”

“Fucking USA,” his father snorted. His eyes turned to Courtney, who bounced her foot awkwardly. “Gosh Pop, I almost forgot to introduce my girlfriend.”

“Dad, this is Courtney,” Duncan said, sounding as awkward as Courtney felt. “Courtney, this is my father, Big Bud Dean.”

“Hello,” Courtney smiled, getting up and offering a handshake. Big Bud removed one of his hands from the bar on the treadmill and twitched it in greeting, and Courtney awkwardly withdrew her hand, sitting back down.

“Duncan,” Duncan said, and Big Bud turned to him. “Why don’t you ask your little friend to stay for dinner?”

While it was sweet of him to want her to stay, Courtney would have rather watched a thousand of Gwen’s interviews about Heather. She stood back up, gathering her coat and purse. “My Mom’s making my favourite meal tonight,” she awkwardly excused herself. “Spaghetti. Lots of oregano.”

“Nice!” Duncan said faux-cheerfully, glancing at his father. “The last time I saw my Mom, she was waving out of the window of a library in Trout River. Right, _Dad?”_

Big Bud didn’t stop pacing along the treadmill, but he grinned back at Duncan. It wasn't a nice grin. It was a You-Think-You’re-Tougher-Than-Me-But-You’re-Not grin. “Right. _Son,”_ he said coolly. Courtney grimaced.

“O-kay, then. I’ll see you later,” she told Duncan, before hurrying out of the house.

Her own parents were out on the patio when she arrived home, a plate of pâté on the table and a slight scent of the past lingering in the air. Courtney could almost see the ghosts of herself and her friends playing croquet on the lawn… Heather Chandler hitting the ball… turning… gagging… drooling… bleeding… _dying…_

Her father’s voice snapped her out of it. “Take a break, Courtney, sit down.” Courtney obediently sat in the empty chair.

“All right.” Her father was fumbling with a lighter, and he succeeded in lighting his cigarette before turning to her.

“So, what was the first day after Heather’s suicide like?”

Courtney winced internally, but on the outside, she shrugged, feigning numbness. With a twist of guilt, she realised she wasn’t really feigning much. “I don’t know,” she said, once again choosing her words carefully. “It was okay, I guess.”

Her mother tutted. “Terrible thing,” she sighed, before hurriedly changing the subject. “So, will we get to meet this Dark Horse prom contender?”

Courtney had never been so grateful to her mother in her life. “May _be_ ,” she hummed, finally cracking a proper smile.

Her father, not paying attention, sighed at the cigarette burning down between his fingers. “Goddamn. Will somebody please tell me why I smoke these damn things?”

Courtney giggled. “Because you’re an idiot.”

“Oh yeah, that’s it.” He immediately took another drag, grinning widely, and Mrs Sawyer shook her head fondly.

“You two…” she sighed, popping a piece of pâté into her mouth and swallowing without chewing. Courtney got to her feet to head back inside.

“Great pâté, Mom, but I’m going to have to motor if I want to be ready for the funeral tomorrow.”


	5. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question: What doubles the horror of accidentally murdering your classmate?
> 
> Answer: Going to her funeral and then having to try and continue as normal.
> 
> Courtney's not going to enjoy this. Unfortunately, it will soon get so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long with the update! Just things have been happening, and I've had a lot to do for college of recent. Good news: my presentation is in a few weeks, and after that I just have my Graded Unit to do then I'll have a lot more time and a lot less stress!!
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains implied and attempted sexual assault towards the end. I mentioned it in the tags, but this is another warning. This story is not a happy one.

The day of the funeral dawned warm and bright, giving the whole affair a surreal feeling. In her room, Lindsay McNamara modelled an all-black outfit in front of her mirror, but stormed away pouting when she noticed her boots were a slightly different shade of black to her dress. A few streets away, Gwen Duke glanced at a magazine article titled _Funeral Chic_  as she carefully applied black lipstick, but as she glanced in the mirror, her eyes widened, and she hurriedly reached for a cotton pad to scrub violently at her lips. Even with Heather dead, Gwen could still feel her disapproval.

Heather herself lay in an open coffin at the church. Her parents had decided on an open casket, and a mortician carefully smoothed her white dress and buffed her pristine forehead. Even though her lips were still tinged blue through the carefully applied lipstick, she was still beautiful in an otherworldly way. The mortician leaned down and kissed her forehead, before hurriedly buffing it again. Her parents had requested she wear her favourite red scrunchie, but it had strangely enough been nowhere to be found.

Lindsay modelled another black outfit in front of her mirror, satisfied that it matched her boots. Gwen finished her make-up - more traditional this time - and clipped a crucifix-shaped earring to one earlobe with a smile. Courtney pulled her navy overcoat over her black dress and straightened her matching hat.

They were ready for the funeral.

* * *

 

“Death!” Father Ripper boomed. “Death is coming. Death is here. Who is that knocking at the door? It’s death.” Courtney bounced her leg awkwardly, not knowing how anyone was expected to respond to this. It was disconcerting enough to be attending the funeral of a girl you had accidentally murdered, but doubly twitch-inducing to be reminded of the exact events every five seconds. “I blame not Heather,” the priest continued, “but a society that tells its teenagers that the answers can be found in the MTV video games. We must pray that the other teenagers of Muskoka, Ontario, know the name of that ‘righteous dude’ who can solve their problems… It’s Jesus Christ, and he’s in the book.”

After the service, Zoey Finn approached the coffin and knelt next to it. _May Heather Chandler rest in peace even though she committed suicide,_ she prayed. _For-the-glory-the-power-and-the-kingdom-are-yours-now-and-forever-Amen._  She made the sign of the cross and rose, allowing Lindsay to take her place.

Lindsay’s prayer was a little less conventional. _Oh, God, this is a tragic thing and sometimes I have a hard time dealing with it. Please send Heather to Heaven and stuff._

Cody was next, looking paler and twitchier than usual. _Dear God,_ he prayed, _please make sure this never happens to me because I do not think I could handle suicide, and that’s the God’s honest truth._  He cracked a strained grin. _Pardon the pun. Fast-early-acceptance-into-an-Ivy-League-school-and-please-let-it-be-Harvard. Amen._  Cody stood and fled, and Brady uncomfortably took his place.

 _Jesus God in heaven… man, why’d you have to kill such hot snatch? …It’s a joke, man. Jeez, people are so serious._  He looked around awkwardly before finishing. _Hail Mary, who art in Heaven, and pray for all the sinners… that we don’t get caught. Another joke, man!_

He clumsily got up, and Gwen took his place. Although she hadn’t yet been able to allow herself to dress how she wanted to, she felt oddly liberated following her former leader’s death, and it showed in her prayer. _I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times, and I felt bad every time I did it, but I kept doing it anyway._  A shadow of guilt passed across her face, before a slow smile replaced it, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself not to shriek with glee. _Now I know that you understood everything. Praise Jesus. Alleluia._

Gwen adjusted her wide black sunhat, pulled up her black satin gloves, and straightened the hem of her black sundress - she seemed to Courtney, now approaching the coffin, to be dressed more for a Gothic cruise than a funeral. Courtney knelt down in Gwen’s place and gnawed at her lip.

 _Hi,_  she began. _I’m sorry. Technically I did not kill Heather Chandler… but, hey, who am I trying to kid, right? I just want my high school to be a nice place. Amen. …Did that sound bitchy?_

She got up and headed towards the exit of the church, passing the bowl of Holy Water, into which Lindsay was currently surreptitiously dipping a big comb and using it to re-fluff her perm. The blonde caught up to her as she left, with a cry of “Hey, Courtney!” Courtney stopped to allow Lindsay’s shorter legs to catch up with her, and they fell into step together. “What are you doing tonight?”

Courtney shrugged. “I dunno. Mourning. Maybe watch some TV. Why?”

Lindsay coiled a blonde curl around her index finger. “Well, Brady asked me out tonight, but he wants to double with Scott and Scott doesn’t have a date.”

Courtney winced, remembering her last double-date with Scott, Brady and Lindsay. It had _not_  been a pleasant experience. “Lindsay, I’ve got something going with Duncan.” _Please respect that I never want to go out with Scott again._

“Please, Court,” Lindsay gazed at her with big blue puppy-dog eyes. “Put Billy The Kid on hold tonight. I’ll never forget it.”

Scott and Brady were standing a little way off from the church doors in the parking lot, next to Scott’s battered pick-up truck. “So man, we on tonight?” Scott was asking Brady, who shrugged.

“Dunno… still gotta talk to Lindsay.” Harold and his pudgy friend Sam stepped by, Sam accidentally treading on one of Scott’s feet. Scott’s jaw dropped in annoyance.

“That little pudwapper just stepped on my foot.”

Brady clenched his teeth with a snarl. “Let’s kick his ass!” He made to start forwards, but Scott held him back.

“Cool off, we’re seniors.”

Brady nodded, leaning back against the truck door. “Goddamn geek!” he called after the two boys.

Sam and Harold turned to face the two alpha jocks, looking far more confidant than they should have. Sam raised his middle finger, with an awkwardly defiant smirk. “Yeah, well, sit and spin!”

Scott met Brady’s eyes, both of them more amused than angered. “That little prick,” he chuckled, before both boys leapt towards Sam, who fled in the direction of the little fountain on the church lawn. Brady followed Sam round the fountain while Scott cut off his escape route, and Brady moved in for the kill, shoving Sam’s face into the dirt and sitting on his back. Scott bent down with a grin while Harold looked on in shame.

“Alright, you piece of shit fag,” Scott smirked, “do you like to suck big dicks?”

“Cut it out,” Sam moaned. Brady pushed him down harder.

“Say it, man,” Scott grinned. “Say ‘I like to suck big dicks’.”

“L-leave him alone, Scott,” Harold stuttered, but Scott ignored him. His attention was caught by Duncan, riding past on his motorcycle and wearing a helmet that read **THE TRUE KILLER**  across the top. He shivered a little, distracted, and Brady took over the intimidation.

“Say it!”

“Okay, okay!” Sam said. He paused, then grinned defiantly again. “You like to suck big dicks.”

Unamused, Brady shoved his face into the dirt, and Sam sobbed a little. “I like to suck big dicks!” he whimpered. “Mmmm-mm! I can’t get enough of them! Satisfied?”

Scott shook himself and looked confident once again. “I’m sure your friends are happy to hear that. Right, guy- _th_?” He mimicked a nerdy lisp, and Harold and the other geeks who had gathered to watch stared at the floor in shame. 

* * *

 

Elsewhere, Courtney and Lindsay continued to sashay through the parking lot. Lindsay was still trying to convince Courtney to go with her on the date. “Come on, Brady’s been so sweet lately, consoling me and stuff. It’ll be really very. Promise.”

“I dunno…”

“Courtney, please, I’m asking you as your best friend.”

“All right,” Courtney sighed. “But this better not be one of those nights where they get shitfaced and take us to a pasture to tip cows.” 

* * *

 

The cow was fast asleep, standing up. Scott and Brady were giggling, drunk, and clinging to each other as they scrambled around it. Courtney and Lindsay looked on from about ten feet away, uncomfortably sober.

“Is it sleeping, dude?” Scott giggled.

“I think so, man,” Brady replied, slurring a little.

“Then get over on this side. Oh shit, cow-tipping is the fucking greatest!”

“Punch it in!” The two boys made to slam their knuckles together but missed, toppling into each other. Lindsay gave Courtney an apologetic smile, but Courtney glared it away.

“Count of three. One… two… three!”

Courtney closed her eyes at the sound of the startled moo, and grimaced as she felt mud splash her face, hair and outfit. She turned to Lindsay with a reproachful scowl, and the cheerleader looked as mortified as she did. 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Courtney had had enough. It was time to blow this joint. She made her way up the hill towards the fence, Scott stumbling after her and singing an off-key version of a Marvin Gaye song. It would be intimidating for most girls, having a drunk, horny football player following them in the dark, but Courtney was more annoyed than anything else - not for lack of knowledge or experience, but because Scott was way more bark than bite at this point.

“When I get that feelin’, I _neeeeeeed_  sexual healing!”

“Yeah right, asshole,” Courtney muttered. She was over the fence and a good distance away from it at this point, while Scott was still trying to remember how his legs worked. She paused at the top of the incline to stare sadly back at where Lindsay was lying dispiritedly under Brady as he yanked at her clothes. Courtney turned back towards the road, and to her surprise, there, leaning against his motorbike with his coat blowing majestically around him, was her dark knight in shining armour.

Duncan blew out a thin stream of smoke before crushing his cigarette into the dirt with his converse. “What is this shit?”

Courtney wrinkled her nose as a splash behind her told her that Scott had lost the fight with gravity and fallen off the fence. Judging from the lack of follow-up activity, he’d apparently decided his best bet was to lie face down in the mud for the time-being. “I’m doing a favour for Lindsay. Double date. I was going to tell you at the funeral, but you’d rode off.”

"Feel like making bah-da-dah-bah-da-dah, feel like making love." Scott continued to sing, now sounding slightly muffled.

Duncan shook his head, chuckling out a harsh laugh. “Another fucking queenie.” He shook his head with a smile. “Sorry, I’m just feeling kind of superior tonight. Seven different high schools in seven different provinces, and the only thing different is my locker combination. We’ve broken through the peer pressure cooker. So what if we had to kill Miss Popularity…”

“So what? Don’t smile like that, Jésus!”

Duncan offered her a hand, now looking deadly serious. “Our love is God. Let’s go get a Slushie.” Courtney took his hand with a grin, forcing herself to ignore Lindsay’s whimpers, Brady’s grunts, and Scott’s muffled warbling.

“And she’s buying the stairway to heaven…”


	6. Rumour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney left her date with Scott without so much as touching him. That's not what Scott wants everyone to believe though. This can only be the beginning of more trouble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains fairly vivid descriptions of sexual acts - not in detail, and not as they're happening (they didn't happen at all) but I'm just warning you now. Enjoy!!

“I’m not belittling the Foodless Fund, Cody, but we’re talking Teen Suicide!” It was the period before lunch the day after the funeral, and Noah Dawson and Leshawna McMahon were conferring over a yearbook while Cody Anderson pouted behind them. Leshawna wasn’t really listening, plugged into her Walkman, but Noah was currently explaining to Cody why they had rearranged the contents of the yearbook that morning. “Ask Leshawna here, the number one song right now is "Teenage Suicide (Don't Do It)" by The Drama Brothers.” He pointed to Leshawna’s T-shirt, which displayed a picture of The Drama Brothers’ logo, and her headphones, which broadcast a tinny crash of drums and guitars as background music. “Jesus man, Westerburg finally got one of these things and I'm not going to blow it.”

“Great. So Heather gets the headline and I get crammed in by the Taco Bell coupon.”

Courtney breezed in, today dressed in a fetching blue pinstriped shirt, a tight grey waistcoat, black leggings and flats, and a black bowler hat with a blue scarf tied stylishly over the hatband. “Hi guys,” she smiled. “I came to check on the topic for this week’s lunchtime poll.”

Noah suddenly looked very awkward. “Uh, don’t worry about it, Courtney, sit down.” He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a chair. “That funeral yesterday must have been really rough.”

Courtney blinked. “Oh. Sure.”

Noah squirmed a little before seemingly coming to a decision. “We were, uh, wondering if maybe you had some poems or artwork that Heather did that we could put in the Heather Chandler yearbook spread.”

Courtney blinked again, this time in shock rather than confusion. “The what?”

“Take a look.” Noah pulled the draft copy of the yearbook towards her and pointed to the pages it was open at: a selection of photographs of Heather Chandler, all in different outfits accented with her signature red, sometimes wearing a hat or sunglasses, all wearing the same demure-yet-deadly smile. It wasn’t that hard for Courtney to picture her with blue poison running down her chin, gagging for help… “We’ll have a two page spread, with her suicide note up here in the right hand corner.” Noah’s voice snapped her out of her hallucination, and she looked up at him blankly. He seemed to take her reaction as disapproving, and tacked on, “It’s more tasteful than it sounds.”

The door swung open, and Staci entered the room, arm linked with a blonde girl with a similarly self-satisfied expression. They were whispering to each other and giggling madly. Courtney shook her head, ignoring them. “I don’t know, Noah. This whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Like last night, Courtney?” Staci tittered, before shrieking with laughter again.

Courtney swivelled in her chair, fixing Staci and her friend with the cold glare she usually reserved for jocks hitting on her. “I’m sorry? I don’t get it.” Her tone should have been enough of a warning, but the girls ignored her.

“You did last night,” Staci’s friend gasped, wheezing. “Scott told us all about your little date.”

“Yeah, and? I left him drunk and flailing in cow shit.”

“I dunno,” Staci smirked. “He was really… _detailed _.__ ”

“Shut up, Staci,” Cody said coldly, but Courtney shook her head, anger beginning to blaze in her dark eyes.

“No, don’t shut up. I’d like to know exactly what I did.”

Cody put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Courtney. I’ll show you the lunchtime poll.” She got to her feet, still glaring at Staci and her friend, as Cody guided her out of the room. He shut the door as soon as they were through it, and turned to her with an apologetic look on his face. “Look, I rarely listen to Neanderthals like Scott Kelly, bu-ut he’s been telling everyone that last night he and Brady had a nice little sword-fight in your mouth and afterwards you were bent over like a coffee table with Scott going in one end and Brady coming in the other. Pardon the pun.”

Courtney’s face went blank. “Pardon the pun. That son of a bitch,” she muttered. In a daze, she pulled a clump of dollar bills and handed them to Cody. “Here, Cody, for the Foodless Fund.” Cody cheerfully pocketed the bills, and Courtney drifted off down the corridor, face still eerily expressionless.

* * *

 

That evening, Courtney lay back on her bed, grinning as she spoke seductively into her phone. “Hi, Scott? This is Courtney Sawyer… I didn't expect to be calling either. I guess my emotions took over. I was wondering if you wanted all those things you've been saying to really happen. It's always been a fantasy of mine to have two guys at once… Sure, you can write Penthouse Forum.” She looked up and shushed Duncan with a grin. He was lounging at the other end of her bed sniggering in delight at the plan they’d cooked up following Scott’s disgusting rumour.

“That’s right,” Courtney continued. “In the woods behind the school, at dawn. And Scott? Don’t forget Brady.”

She slammed the phone down. At the other end, Scott put down his phone and shook his head with an amazed expression on his face. “Women,” he murmured. 

* * *

 

With the phone call out of the way, Courtney and Duncan were carefully loading two handguns that Duncan had produced with a grin. Courtney suddenly giggled in incredulity. “I don’t see the point of me writing a fake suicide note when we’ll just be shooting them with blanks.”

Duncan snorted. “Get crucial. We won’t be using blanks this time.”

Courtney dropped her gun in revulsion. “You can’t be serious? Hey, listen, my Bonnie and Clyde days are over.” She made to angrily launch off her bed, but Duncan pulled her back down with an easy smile.

“Do you take German?” he asked.

Courtney shook her head coldly. “Spanish.”

Duncan nodded, still smiling, and held up a bullet. “These are _Ich Luge_  bullets. My grandfather snared a shitload of them in W.W. Two. They're like tranquillizers only they break the surface of the skin, enough to cause blood, but not any real harm.”

Courtney nodded slowly. “So it looks like the person has been shot and killed, when really they’re just unconscious and bleeding?” That could work.

Duncan’s smile widened. “We shoot Scott and Brady. Make it look like they shot each other. By the time Scott and Brady regain consciousness, they'll be the laughingstocks of the school. The note's the punchline. How'd it turn out?”

Courtney grinned, perhaps picking up on his mood. She grabbed her purse and rummaged for the crumpled biology notes Heather had snagged from Brady so long ago, along with a newer, cleaner note, and held them up for Duncan’s inspection. “First tell me the similarity is not incredible.”

Duncan squinted at the two notes and nodded. “Incredible similarity,” he said warmly. Courtney grinned and flourished the new note, clearing her throat.

“Scott and I died the day we realized we could never reveal our forbidden love to an uncaring and ununderstanding world. The joy we shared in each other's arms was greater than any touchdown. Yet we were forced to live the lie of Sexist-Beer Guzzling-Jock-Assholes.’”

Duncan lounged back on the bed. “Exquisite, but I don’t think ‘ununderstanding’ is a word.”

“We don’t want to make them out to be too secretly eloquent,” Courtney reminded him. She paused, considering something else. “Why would the Germans invent a bullet that doesn’t kill people?” she asked, frowning. “I mean, it was World War Two, not a school play.”

“They used them on themselves to make it look like they were dead when the Russians invaded Berlin,” Duncan said rapidly. “Really quite a brilliant device, but too flamboyant to seriously produce.”

“Neat,” Courtney grinned. She caught sight of Brittany the raccoon-striped cat entering the room, and aimed her gun at her with a grin. “Let’s try it out on Brittany.”

Duncan snatched the gun away from her, looking panicked. “It doesn’t work on small animals!”

“Oh.”

“Well, uh, hey, let’s look at the homosexual artefacts I dug up to plant at the scene,” Duncan suggested. “Prepare to be a little disappointed.” He grabbed a pink glittery shopping bag from beside the bed and dumped the contents out onto the bed. “We’ve got an issue of _Stud Puppy _,__  a candy dish, a Joan Crawford postcard, some mascara…”

Courtney giggled. “You must have had fun.”

Duncan clicked his tongue and winked at her. “You know it. Oh, man, I almost forgot… The one perfecto thing I picked up…” He reached for his coat, which was draped over Courtney’s desk chair, and pulled from the pockets two bottles of Perrier water. “Ta-da!”

“Oh come on,” Courtney rolled her eyes. “Lots of people drink Perrier. It’s come a long way.”

“This is Muskoka,” Duncan pointed out. “If you don’t have a brewsky in your hand, you might as well be wearing a dress.”

Courtney conceded, before leaning back mock-seductively. “Oh, you’re so smart. How about a little heterosexuality before we go?” Duncan laughed, climbing on top of her, and she pulled him in for a warm kiss. 

* * *

 

As dawn rose over Muskoka, Scott and Brady walked through the woods behind the school. Brady was in an excitable state, playing air-guitar and singing off-key, but Scott seemed tense, staring straight ahead.

“Sex and Drugs and HBO is all I ever need! Whoa! Can you hear me! Hello Tokyo! I said Sex and Drugs and…”

“Shut the fuck up, all right,” Scott snapped. Brady made a face.

“Lighten up, dude. In these woods is some of the finest pussy in the school and we don't even have to buy it a hamburger and a Diet Coke. What a way to start the day! Punch it in!” Scott feebly slammed his knuckles against Brady’s, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Meanwhile, Courtney was tucking her gun into the waistband of her frilly blue skirt. She’d just hidden the bulge under her baggy white cardigan when the crunch of leaves underfoot alerted her to the boys’ presence. Everything was prepared.

It was time.

“Hi, Courtney,” Scott said. Courtney smiled, forcing cheerfulness.

“Hi guys. Glad you could make it.”

Brady clapped his hands together awkwardly. “So, do we just whip it out or what?”

Courtney shook her head, holding down vomit. “I’ve made a circle at each end of the clearing. Brady, you go over there. Scott, in that one. When you reach the circle, strip.”

Brady and Scott gave each other confused looks, but both shrugged and moved to the set-out circles and began removing their shirts. Brady threw his polo-shirt onto the ground before squinting at her.

“Hey, what about you?”

Courtney grinned seductively, picturing that she was talking to Duncan. “I was hoping you’d rip my clothes off me, sport.”

“Oh. Good idea.”

Both boys finished stripping, standing facing her in their undies. Courtney took a deep breath. “Count of three, guys.” Brady giggled in anticipation. “One…” Scott finally cracked a smile. “Two…”

“Three.” Duncan stepped out from behind a tree. He and Courtney pulled out their guns, and Duncan aimed at Brady and Courtney aimed at Scott, and they both pulled the triggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger!!!!!!


	7. Gunshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we left Courtney, she and Duncan had lured Scott and Brady into the woods behind the school, claiming that Courtney wanted a threesome with them, but in actuality had planned to shoot them with Ice Luge bullets and fake a suicide note. And now, we learn their fate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! My production unit is over! I'm free for two weeks! I have a girlfriend now! (sorta) I'm deliriously happy about everything!
> 
> Which does not show in this chapter. Many grim things happen, but worse is still to come...

Duncan’s bullet hit Brady squarely in the forehead, and the linebacker collapsed backwards like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Courtney’s bullet skimmed Scott’s bicep, leaving a shallow red cut, and buried itself in a tree. Scott screamed and turned tail, dashing away down the path, and Courtney threw down her gun with an amused smile.

“Shucks,” she said cheerfully. Duncan turned to her with wide eyes, pale with horror.

“Did you miss him completely?!”

“Yeah,” Courtney giggled. “But don’t worry, it was worth it just to see the look on –”

“Don’t move!” Duncan shouted. “I’ll get him back!” Courtney’s laughter cut off like a faucet as he bolted into the woods after Scott, and she stared after him, trembling and feeling horribly, terrifyingly confused.

* * *

As Scott ran down the path, Duncan wove through the trees and fog to the side of the path with a cold efficiency. The quarterback was panicked and unsure of where he was going, hoping the path would lead him out, but Duncan knew exactly where Scott was hoping to go, and how to get there quicker. 

* * *

 

In the clearing, Courtney turned towards the jock’s prone body. Nervously she picked up her gun, running her fingertip lightly over the chamber, and drifted towards where Brady lay, apparently unconscious. 

* * *

 

Scott saw the end of the path, and with it the end of the trees. He sped up, but a second later Duncan came hurtling down an incline and shot at the ground in front of the exit. Scott turned and dashed back down the path, looking paler than ever. 

* * *

 

Courtney shivered as she knelt next to Brady. He didn’t look bleeding and unconscious as Duncan had described. He looked bleeding and dead, dead, _dead._

Scott barrelled into the clearing, looking terrified, and Duncan howled from somewhere in the woods, “NOW!”

In a burst of frightened, animal instinct, Courtney whipped around and fired her gun right into Scott’s chest. 

* * *

 

At this time in the morning in the parking lot of Westerburg High, a squad car was the only vehicle visible – and this one was filled with marijuana smoke. Two cops sat lazily back in their seats, but suddenly one started coughing, and a second later shouted, “I heard it that time!”

“Wha?” his partner mumbled.

“Another gunshot! From the woods!” His partner struggled upright.

“Shit, let’s roll!” The two officers exploded out of the car, running as quickly as they could towards the woods. 

* * *

 

Duncan carefully placed his gun in Scott’s right hand, while Courtney zombiesquely did the same with Brady and her own gun. “They don’t look so good,” she said quietly.

Duncan ignored her. “Remember, Brady is left-handed.” Courtney picked up the gun and switched it to Brady’s left hand, and at that moment, there was a shout from somewhere in the woods.

“Keep going until you hit the clearing!”

Duncan’s head snapped up, and he yanked Courtney to her feet. _“Run!”_ he whispered. The two took off into the woods in the opposite direction of the shout, making it out of sight seconds before the two cops charged into the clearing with their guns raised. The cops skidded to a halt as they saw the bodies.

“Mother of Shit!” one whispered.

“Call in,” the other one instructed. He glanced up at the spot where Courtney and Duncan had vanished. “I heard something out there. I’m checking it out.” He ran through the trees as his partner grabbed his walkie-talkie, holding Scott’s non-existent pulse.

“This is Officer McGillis and I’ve got two dead bodies in the woods behind Westerburg high. Oh my God, one of them’s Scott Kelly, the quarterback.”

* * *

Duncan and Courtney flew through the thick trees as fast as they could. Somewhere above them an owl hooted as something else blindly barrelled through the fog behind them. The exit was right up ahead, and they shot through it, racing down the dew-drenched hill towards Courtney’s station-wagon, parked at the bottom. _“Faster!”_ Duncan hissed. They reached the car, panting, and flung open the doors, getting in and slamming them shut. As a police officer came racing out of the woods, they somersaulted into the backseat and began hurriedly stripping down to their underwear. They embraced as the cop stumbled down the hill.

The officer approached the car and peered in. His walkie-talkie crackled, making him jump, and he moved away from the car and spoke into it. “Think what I heard was just a stinking owl. All I got is two kids making out in the backseat of a car. Should I pry them apart?”

“Forget it,” came the reply. “I got all the answers back here, partner. Boy, kids today sure start in early. …Hey, are they naked?”

He clicked off his walkie-talkie with a sigh, heading back up the hill.

As the cop moved back into the woods, Courtney and Duncan stopped kissing. They caught their breath, smiled victoriously, then leaned back in with renewed passion. 

* * *

 

The officer ran back into the clearing, where his partner was knelt next to the two bodies. “What’s the deal?”

“Suicide,” McGillis replied. “Double suicide. They shot each other.”

“That’s Scott Kelly!”

“Yeah, and the linebacker, Brady Sweeney.”

“Oh my God, suicide?” He paused, shaking his head. “Why?”

“Does this answer your question?” McGillis said grimly. He reached into the pink, glittery shopping bag lying next to the boys and pulled out two bottles of Perrier water.

His partner’s eyes widened. “Oh, man. They were fags!”

McGillis held up a note. “Listen up. ‘We could never reveal our forbidden love to an uncaring and ununderstanding world.’”

“Ah. Jesus H Fuck. Scott was a Wawanakwa Sunday Insert Honourable Mention…” he shook his head slowly, but then suddenly frowned in confusion. “Wait a second. How did they shoot each other if we heard two separate sets of gunshots?”

McGillis shrugged and clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. “I always hear gunshots when I’m high before noon. Life’s a crazy bitch. Don’t try to analyse it. The quarterback buggering the linebacker. What a waste.”

His partner nodded as he processed it. “Oh the humanity.” 

* * *

 

At the second morning mourning conference of the week, Coach Donovan Ripper tutted a little as he spoke to Counsellor O’Halloran. “After every touchdown they gave each other a little slap on the bottom. It seemed innocent…”

Miles Flemming looked up with a glare. “Shut up.”

Joshua Pope shook his head at the suicide note. “Look at this,” he sighed. “‘Ununderstanding’.”

Miles leapt to her feet. “Will you shut up! We were in a similar position on Monday and I thoughtfully suggested that we get the students together for an unadulterated emotional outpouring. You took the opportunity to play yet another round of ‘Let’s laugh at the Hippie’.”

Counsellor O’Halloran raised her eyebrows. “Miles, if you want to try out for the school play…”

Principal Hatchett hoarsely interrupted her. “Shut up, Blaineley. I’ve seen a lot of bullshit – angel dust, switchblades, sexually perverse photography exhibits involving tennis racquets, but this suicide thing… I guess it’s all on Miles’ wavelength. We’re just going to have to write off today, and Friday she can do her little love-in or whatever. Whatever.”

* * *

Courtney’s car was the lone vehicle in the student parking lot, and she and Duncan lay in the backseat, both fast asleep. As the obnoxious muffler on a pickup truck filled with Heavy Metalers rumbled into the spot next to them, Courtney’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up in a bug-eyed sweat. Groaning, she climbed into the front seat and pulled on her cardigan, pressing in the car’s cigarette lighter for it to warm up. As more cars pulled into the lot, she heard Duncan groan and sit up behind her. She glanced back at him morosely.

“So we killed them,” she said quietly. “Didn’t we?” It wasn’t a question, but Duncan answered anyway, shrugging and sighing heavily.

“Of course.”

Courtney glared at her lap. The cigarette lighter beeped, alerting her that it was heated, and on impulse, she tugged it out and savagely pressed the hot end into the palm of her left hand. As she sobbed from the pain, Duncan hurdled into the front seat and snatched the lighter away, dropping it into the ashtray, pulling a cigarette out and using the scorched flesh on her hand to light it. Courtney pulled her hand away, wailing, as Duncan took a drag from his cigarette.

“Ich Luge bullets!” she howled. “I’m an idiot!”

The school busses were starting to pull up, and Duncan spoke quietly in the hope of calming her. “You believed it because you wanted to believe it,” he explained. “Your true feelings were too gross and icky for you to face.”

Courtney looked up at him incredulously. “I did not want them dead!”

“Did too.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did –”

Courtney slammed her hands over her ears. “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb –”

“Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did too! Did –”

“MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB WHOSE FLEECE WAS WHITE AS SNOW –” Courtney banged on the horn to drown out Duncan’s increasingly louder “Did too!”s 

* * *

 

Gwen and Lindsay sauntered through the parking lot, but stopped to contemplate Courtney’s hiccupping car and its sparring occupants. Gwen chuckled. “Ah, young love,” she commented to Lindsay, who took a moment to understand the joke before lazily nodding back.

Staci bounded up to the two girls. Gwen raised her eyebrows and was about to tell her to shove off when Staci spoke. “Did you hear?” she squealed. “School’s cancelled today because Scott and Brady killed themselves in a repressed homosexual suicide pact!”

Gwen’s jaw dropped in both incredulity and amusement. “No way!” 

* * *

 

Duncan pulled Courtney off the horn and offered her a cigarette from his pocket. She fell silent and put it between her lips, but didn’t move to light it.

“Football season’s over, Princess,” he said quietly. “Scott and Brady had nothing to offer the school but date-rapes and AIDS jokes.”

Courtney took the cigarette out of her mouth and tucked it into her pocket, before wearily looking down at her burnt hand. “Sure. Can we make an ice run before the funeral?” Duncan nodded as around them, students returned to their cars and the busses pulled back out of the lot.


	8. Conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their double-murder-disguised-as-a-suicide of Scott and Brady, Courtney and Duncan attend the funeral, then a rather disturbing school event. Finally, Courtney comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been... a few months.
> 
> For a while I just wasn't in a healthy place to touch this story. But I'm back!! And ready to continue writing vaguely creepy pseudo-horror.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mr Kelly was exactly how Courtney had imagined him: a typical hillbilly dad, who looked like he might have once been part of a meth lab but had ultimately decided that aggressive-sports-dad-who-thinks-he’s-the-coach was a more suitable career. He was leaning over Scott’s open coffin, where the boy himself was wearing a black football helmet and a black football jersey. Father Ripper and the congregation watched intently as Mr Kelly spoke to the boy in the coffin.

“If th’re’s any way you can hear me, Scott buddy,” Mr Kelly was saying, “I don’t care that you w’re really some pansy. Y’re my flesh-n-blood. You made me proud.” He looked up to gaze tearily at the crowd. “I love my homosexual son. My son’s gay, ‘n’ I love him!”

Courtney rolled her eyes behind her dark glasses, and leaned against Duncan’s shoulder. “Your son’s dead and you love him,” she murmured disbelievingly. Duncan voiced her own thoughts when he replied.

“How do you think Mr Kelly would react to a son with a limp wrist with a pulse?”

Courtney huffed in amusement, a smile tugging at her lips, but then she made eye-contact with a little girl with curly red hair and a tear-stained face – a little girl who was wearing Scott’s football jersey. Courtney’s smile vanished, and replaced itself with a nauseated grimace.

* * *

That night, she lay on her bedroom floor, alternating drinking vodka out of a Dixie cup and listening to the blaring radio, hoping the crappy music would block out the guilt she was feeling after seeing Scott’s sister at the funeral. But it seemed that she couldn’t even escape reality in her own safe haven.

“As you know,” the DJ was saying, “the Wawanakwa Teen Suicide tote is up to three. Here’s one for Scott and Brady, The Drama Brothers with Teenage Suicide (Don’t Do It)…”

As the drums and synths kicked in, playing repetitive catchy riffs, Courtney slammed the off-button on the wireless and reached for her phone instead. Maybe Duncan would have something interesting to say to distract her.

But that was a bust too. Courtney’s side of the following conversation was along the lines of:

“Hello, Duncan?”

“No, it’s okay, I just kind of wanted to talk…”

“Oh, a newsmagazine show on Channel 16?”

“Really? On the suicides.”

“No, sounds great.”

“Bye.”

She hung up and turned instead to her battered diary, which lay on the bedside table next to a blue biro. Courtney pulled both down to the floor, screwed her monocle into place, took a generous gulp of vodka, and began to write.

         _Dear Diary –_

_My teen angst bullshit now has a body count._

She sighed gloomily, not noticing Brittany slip into the room and begin to lap out of the Dixie cup, and continued to write.

_The most popular people in school are dead. Everyone’s sad, but it’s a good kind of sad. Suicide gave Heather depth, Scott a soul, Brady a brain. I gave Duncan shit about the Ich Luge thing, but what really frightens me is that I’m not frightened by what Duncan will do next. It’s God versus my boyfriend, and God’s losing…_

Courtney groaned quietly and let the diary slip out of her hands. Popping out her monocle, she lay on her side and curled into a ball, falling into an uneasy rest.

* * *

It was an almost typical scene in the cafeteria the next day, with a cacophony of students munching and gossiping, and a jukebox roaring in the background. The only difference was that everyone was wearing black armbands to pay their respects to their dead classmates – at first. Then, at about ten to one, Miles Flemming bustled into the cafeteria with an entourage of students including Cody Anderson, Noah Dawson, and to the surprise of all, Gwen Duke. Miles cleared her throat.

“Cody, kill the jukebox.”

The music ground to a halt as Cody pulled the plug out of the wall, leaving the last few bars of “What’s New, Pussycat?” to float through the air and die. As many students breathed a sigh of relief (the song had already been played eighteen times with the exception of a single “It’s Not Unusual” slipped into the middle; someone’s idea of an amusing joke), Miles hoisted a bullhorn up to her lips. What was about to follow may actually have been worse than the music.

“COULD I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?”

A startled Harold McGrady sputtered milk down his front. Students whipped their heads around to curiously watch Miles. Even Beth Dumptruck warily looked up from her plate in the corner of the cafeteria.

“OUR SCHOOL HAS BEEN TORN APART BY TRAGEDY,” Miles chanted, with a sort of self-importance that was soaring to new and unprecedented heights. “I’M HERE TO FUSE IT BACK TOGETHER THROUGH **TOGETHERNESS.** I WANT EVERYONE TO CLASP HANDS. WE NEED TO CONNECT THIS CAFETERIA INTO ONE MIGHTY CIRCUIT.”

Not one student moved. Instead, a tableau of dumbfounded students gazed up at the bullhorn-wielding hippie.

With a hangover from hell (before this whole thing started, Courtney had never been much of a drinker), she decided to skip the morning at school and head in for lunch. Dressed in a stylish purple coat, black-and-cream patterned scarf, and a smart black hat, she slid a pair of round sunglasses up her nose to cover her bloodshot eyes, and attempted to tie a black armband onto herself in order to blend in with the rest of the mourning students while balancing a pile of books under one arm. As she approached the cafeteria entrance, she caught sight of Miles stood at the front like Evita Peron – although her composure was rapidly crumbling.

_What have I just walked into?_

“YO, WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?” Miles bellowed into the bullhorn, ignoring the students wincing at her attempt to sound hip and down with the youth. “I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW TO HOLD HANDS. RING-AROUND-THE-ROSY-A-POCKETFUL-OF-POSY…” Nothing. “OH, FORGET IT!” Lowering the bullhorn for the first time, she glanced at her watch and then at Cody. “Where are they?!”

Courtney warily entered the cafeteria, her armband clamped under her arm as a lost cause. A second later, Gwen appeared next to her and tightly knotted it for her. Courtney raised her eyebrows at the green-clad girl, then did a double take. Gwen’s hair was no longer flat and dull, but had been coiffed into a short, curly twenties bob. Ignoring this development for the moment she commented sarcastically, “I see Ms Phlegm’s on another crusade. With usual success.”

Gwen glanced over Courtney’s shoulder with a smirk. “I have a feeling this one will work.”

Courtney, frowning, followed Gwen’s gaze, and took a step back in shock. Two two-person video camera crews and a newspaper photographer were bustling into the cafeteria. She got slightly battered as the second crew squeezed by, and stepped out of the way to simply gape. Still standing front and centre, Miles straightened up and smiled in relief, lifting the bullhorn back up.

“THE CAMERAS ARE HERE! LOCK YOUR PAWS!”

Looking slightly confused but rather awed, Staci and her country club friends were the first to latch onto each other. Zoey Finn and the rest of her table followed suit, and Courtney fought down a growing sense of queasiness. The cafeteria was beginning to look like a feeding frenzy, but instead of sharks surrounding a dead whale, it was hundreds of students clasping hands and vying for the video cameras’ attention. Jocks and heavy metalers were jumping over and onto tables as they bumbled into anxious, hand-holding constellations as the camera crews wove through the cafeteria. The photographer snapped a picture of Cody with his arm around Izzy, who might have looked surprised if she’d been clearheaded enough to comprehend what was happening. It was bad. But it was about to get worse: Miles hurried ahead of the camera crews and grabbed hold of a chain of jocks, pulling it to connect with a chain of Zoey Finn-a-likes.

Courtney noticed Lindsay drearily look up from where she had clearly been napping on a table. Upon seeing the havoc around her, the blonde cheerleader pulled off her black armband and tied it around her eyes, before drooping her head back onto the table. Courtney would have laughed if she wasn’t so horrified at the rest of the scene. Her books slowly slid out of her grasp and hit the floor.

In the corner, Beth Dumptruck nervously glanced at her out-of-control peers.

Courtney turned to share an exasperated look with Gwen, but to her shock, Gwen was smiling. “If you can’t beat em…” she mouthed, before sliding over to sit on a handsome prep’s lap. The photographer snapped a shot. Next to them, Miles forced Noah to stand between two heavy metalers. The photographer turned to where Cody had his arms around one of Harold’s nerdy friends. And Courtney stood silently before the chaos, in the exact spot where Heather Chandler had stood just last Friday, not moving a muscle.

Miles was now standing with Harold and the geek squad. They looked warily over to where Beth Dumptruck stared back, before Harold turned to Miles.

“I may be a geek, but I have my pride.”

“Gotcha,” Miles agreed, before turning to the rest of the cafeteria to shout, “Could I get some stoners over here please?” She’d lost the bullhorn, thankfully, but her voice still carried, and seconds later boys and girls in frayed denim jackets with frizzy braided hair were drifting over, along with a strong smell of marijuana.

Frightened and flustered, Beth quaked in her seat for a moment before crawling underneath her table.

Courtney jumped as she felt a pair of arms fold around her, and glanced over her shoulder to see Duncan grinning madly as he hugged her. “Was this is good for you as it was for me?” he quipped. Courtney couldn’t nod. She couldn’t shake her head. All she could do was watch as Cody and Miles approached them.

“I’m gonna need a VHS copy of all this by Monday for my Princeton application,” Cody was saying, but Miles’ eyes were fixed on Courtney.

“Courtney, there you are!” she beamed. “Wasn’t it Fab? I’ve put peer pressure out to pasture!”

Courtney found her voice at last. “Oh, come on, Miles,” she said coldly, not even bothering with the general respect to call the teacher ‘Ms Flemming’. Miles didn’t deserve her respect, not after this. “What happens tomorrow, when the cameras aren’t here?” She didn’t notice Duncan behind her fixated on the table Beth Dunnstock had just peaked out from under, before ducking away. Duncan curiously ambled towards the table.

Miles made an attempt to do an impression of Heather Chandler’s famous ‘you know you can’t win’ look, but it only made her look mildly constipated. “Why are you dissing me, Courtney? I’m trying to redefine the high school experience –”

“You’re ignoring the high school experience,” Courtney hissed. “People are dead –” _because of me_ “– and all you can think to do is whip up some warped Pity Party.” She paused, seething. “If we’re ever going to build respect for each other, it’s gotta be something… something real. We can’t be tricked into it. Back me up, Duncan.” She glanced over her shoulder, but to her surprise, Duncan was nowhere to be seen. “Duncan?”

When she turned around, Miles was already moving off. “Let’s go, Cody. Some people just aren’t willing to share the pain…”

In the corner of the cafeteria, Beth slithered from under the table up into her seat, and with her head down, tried to finish off her bowl of soup. She glanced up, and suddenly froze. Seated across from her, behind a Rebel Without A Cause lunchbox, was a boy with shaggy black hair that had green tips. He smiled warmly, making the cafeteria light glint off the piercings in his nose and eyebrow.

“Greetings and salutations.”

* * *

That evening, Courtney found herself sitting on Duncan’s couch, rocking backwards and forwards with increasingly unguarded annoyance. Occasionally she’d pause in her furious mental diatribe to glare at Duncan, who, excitedly insensitive to her distress, was spinning the tuner of the radio with his headphones pressed to one ear. Eventually, she’d had enough.

“That thing this afternoon…” she burst out. “I’m so angry! It was like, ‘Boy, isn’t death fun!’ ‘Gee, I wonder who’ll die next!’ ‘I’ll bet we get four camera crews next time.’ It was chaos. Fucking chaos.”

Duncan giddily pivoted around, tearing the headphones from the radio so a blast of static accompanied his words. “What are you talking about?” he said gleefully. “Today was great. Chaos is great.” He leaned against the entertainment console with faux-philosophical panache. “Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling, and it’s what’s going to make Westerburg a purified place to get an education. Face it, our way is the way. We scare people into not being assholes.”

Courtney fumed, a ticking time-bomb of suppressed rage. “Our way is not our way,” she said through gritted teeth. Duncan snorted.

“Tell that to the judge; ‘Your honour, I was led to believe their were Ich Luge bullets in the gun. Heck, tell it to Scott Kelly! ‘Don’t shoot, Courtney, I’m the quarterback!’”

Courtney angrily groped for something to throw at her vibrating boyfriend, and found a framed picture of a blonde woman in her thirties that would do the trick. To her annoyance, Duncan easily caught it, and stared her down with a wide grin.

“I’m telling it to you! YOU!” she snarled. “Nothing good can come from suicide, from murder, from death. Nothing! Nothing except more death and shit like that feeding frenzy this afternoon…” She paused for breath, panting. “Geez, what am I… who… _**Unnaah!**_ You can be so immature!”

Making her even angrier was that Duncan had lost attention at the end of her rant, and was instead staring at the door. “You kids are making too much damn noise,” he said eventually, eyes not wavering.

Courtney turned just as Big Bud Dean entered the room, smile on face, in one hand a chest exerciser and waving a video cassette in the other. “We beat the bitches,” he grinned.

“Oh, beautiful,” Courtney mumbled. “The Beaver’s home.”

Either Big Bud didn’t hear her, or he didn’t care. “Judge told em to slurp shit and die,” he continued, as though she hadn’t interrupted. He moved over to the entertainment console and turned off the radio, turning on the VCR instead and cramming the cassette in. Big Bud hefted his chest exerciser up as the image of a shabby building appeared on the massive TV. “I put a Norwegian in the boiler room,” he chuckled. “Masterful. When that blew, it set off a pack of thermals I’d stuck upstairs.” As the building blew up, he cackled, and Duncan politely applauded. Courtney was silent on the sofa as the older man popped out the cassette and bounced away. “Some days, it’s just great to be alive!” he called over his shoulder. The second he was out of earshot, Courtney turned to Duncan, who was still staring at the TV.

“Do you like your father?”

Duncan shrugged, looking perplexed. “I’ve never given the matter much thought.” He was silent for a moment before adding, “Liked my mother.” He held up the picture Courtney had thrown at him. The blonde woman smiled sweetly through the glass. She had the same teal eyes as Duncan.

“They said her death was an accident,” Duncan said. His voice was emotionless as he sank onto the couch next to her. “But she knew when the explosives were set to go off. She knew…”

He didn’t need to continue. Courtney stared at him with dazed concern.

“In some sick way,” she said quietly, “we unclogged the sinuses of the school. But if we’re going to keep the school healthy, it’s gotta be through something having to do with life, not death.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows at her. “Whoa, Metaphor Tennis, anyone? Tell me, if you put a Nazi in a concentration camp, does that make you a Nazi?”

Courtney scowled. “Maybe.”

Duncan gave a frustrated exhale before bounding up to turn the radio back on. The familiar DJ’s voice blared into the room.

“Dudes, if I get one more request for that Drama Brothers song I’m going to commit suicide. Here it is…”

As the drums kicked in, Duncan gave a malevolent smirk. “They’re playing our song,” he purred, and as the vocals began shouting over the drums and synths, the boy began seductively moving towards Courtney, semi-lip-syncing along. As Courtney watched, seething with anger but a little turned on, he slithered onto the couch next to her.

“TIMES ARE MEAN FOR A TEEN – WE KNOW! PARENTS IGNORE, TEACHERS BORE – WE KNOW! BUT THERE’S MORE THAN ONE WAY TO GO! TEENAGE SUICIDE; DON’T DO IT! TEENAGE SUICIDE; DON’T DO IT!”

Courtney was about to lean in for a kiss that said ‘I’m still mad but kinda want you right now’, when Duncan suddenly paused. To her horror, he pulled a gun out of his coat pocket and giddily fired it at the radio, destroying it.

What shocked Courtney in that moment wasn’t his irrational behaviour, or his apparent need to destroy something. It was the fact that she wasn’t at all surprised.

“That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

Duncan turned to her as she rose from the sofa, giving her a confused look. “Wha-a-at?” He pulled her back onto the couch, pressing a kiss to her neck. But instead of feeling sparks like she used to, Courtney felt nothing. He pressed another kiss next to it before pulling away to frown at her. “You can’t bring them back. You must know that.”

Courtney’s face tightened. “I’m not trying to ‘bring back’ anybody… except maybe myself.” She sighed, before rolling away from him into a crawling position on the floor, and getting to her feet to stand in a walking-out-the-door position. She gave him a cold look. “To think there was a time when I actually thought you were cool.” He continued to look bemused, and she continued, “If you can’t handle me now, just stay home and shoot your TV, blow up a couple toasters or something. Just don’t come to school and don’t mess with me.” With that, she turned smartly and walked out the door, Duncan staring after her.

“You’ll be back,” he said eventually. He slowly sat up, and stared at the gun he was still holding. On impulse, he placed it in his mouth and paused. Then, biting down on the barrel of the gun, he proceeded to broodingly tie his shoelaces.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Should I write more? Should I never sit at a keyboard again? (please don't tell me if it's the second one. I'm smol with terrible self esteem.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please kudos and comment!


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